


At Least It Was Here

by artemine



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU, Superman - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Teachers, Batfamily Feels, Hate to Love, I Don't Do Simple, Mental Health Issues, bruce is sad and people try to be nice about it, clark is kind and bruce tries to be chill about it, tagging as i go along just bear with me, they fight but then they kiss, this is as much a superbat fic as it is jaydick and the rest of the kids, what are tags
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-18
Updated: 2016-10-03
Packaged: 2018-05-14 17:26:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 101,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5751859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/artemine/pseuds/artemine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Oh, I’m sorry,” Clark answered, still snarling, “I think I misread the situation. I didn’t understand the father was twice as rude as the son.”<br/>“And I don’t understand why you can’t stay in your goddamn lane, Journalism,” Bruce said aggressively, getting a step closer to Clark.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [figure8](https://archiveofourown.org/users/figure8/gifts).



> the initial title for this was "fight fight fight yeaaaa kiss him on the mouth"  
> i'm going to scream so loud why are bruce wayne and clark kent in love
> 
> shout out to len for supporting this mess and beta reading it you're the best  
> i'm about 27% sure of where i'm going with this stick with me to find out
> 
> this is probably as much going to be a jaydick fic as it is a superbat one. just expect lots of batfam feels and also clark kent being a nerd (two of my favorite things truly)

Dick was grateful that he was athletic enough he could be late every morning without looking  _ too  _ out of breath as he reached the top of the stairs. Because routine was his best friend, he damned Bruce’s classroom for being so high up the building like he did every morning, and opened the door wide as he made his way into the huge amphitheater. He was a well-liked teacher assistant, and everyone was used to seeing him enter the room 10 minutes late, wearing his signature victorious grin that made the students chuckle and Bruce sigh. He was welcomed by unusual silence as he finger gunned the professor he had thought would be Bruce.

“Students don’t usually throw finger guns at me as they arrive late for their first class of the semester, but maybe I’m not quite familiar with Gotham U traditions yet,” Not-Bruce said.

Dick squinted at the tall, brown-haired man, who definitely looked nothing like his father. He checked the classroom, sure that he had entered the proper one.

“Uh… You’re not my dad?” Dick answered, his fingers hanging in the air lamely.

“I’m no one’s dad,” the professor said.

Half the class was discreetly laughing now. Dick coughed and collected himself, putting his hands back down. “I’m sorry I— I’m looking for History of Criminological Thought? Mr. Wayne’s class?”

“This is Introduction to Journalism, and I’m Mr. Kent.”

“Clearly less glamorous,” Dick teased with a smile. It didn’t make the teacher laugh, and he regretted it immediately.

The students’s chuckling started again, a bit louder, and the teacher definitely looked like he was losing his patience now. Dick stared at him and turned back toward the door, a tight smile on his lips as he wondered if he should just leave without another word or apologize again. He decided to awkwardly wave and say nothing else, closing the door behind him. His phone beeped as he took it out of his pocket, and he read Bruce’s text with a smile.  _ If you read the emails I forward you you’d know they moved us classrooms this semester. B-4325.  _ He started trotting toward the right room, wondering about the professor he had never seen before. Dick was the opposite of a newbie at Gotham University, and he could pride himself in knowing the buildings and the staff more than anyone else. A new face was always unexpected, especially one that took over the amphitheater Bruce had been giving class in for years.

Dick found the classroom, and in front of it, a young man tiptoeing in front of the door, peeking through the little window, brows furrowed and biting his lower lip anxiously.

“Can I help you?” Dick asked, curious and trying to come up with a gentle way of breaking to him that Bruce probably could see him from there. Bruce wouldn’t do a thing, but he would make a mental note that the kid with the white streak in his hair had waited 10 minutes before coming up with the courage to walk in late. “Do you want to go in with me?”

The lost student looked at him, his eyes showing clear anguish at the prospect of setting a foot in the classroom. “Your first class too?” he just asked, gauging him.

Dick chuckled and shook his head, adjusting his bag’s strap on his shoulder. “I’m not a student. I’m the TA.”

“Just my luck,” the younger man groaned. He rubbed his eyes, sighing painfully. “Look, I got the wrong class at first, but it’s really not my style, alright? I’m not late often, I… It was just a one-time thing. Can you tell him? Can you tell Mr. Wayne?”

“What’s your name?”

“Jason Todd,” he spat out, like it really was the worst thing Dick could have asked him.

“Alright, Jason Todd,” Dick answered with a smile. “I got your back,” he added with a wink. He opened the door and slid in, waving at Bruce as he made his entrance. Students were often glad to see him act so casually. He was the  _ cool  _ teacher assistant, the accessible counterpart to the  _ terrifying  _ Bruce Wayne, who really wasn’t that terrifying once you actually talked to him but who liked letting his son deal with students asking for more time to give in essays. Dick had built that reputation when he’d been a student at Gotham U, and had been happy to keep it now that he was a bit more than just a classmate.

“Mr. Grayson,” Bruce said with an exaggerated sigh, turning on his heels to face him, arms crossed against his chest. “How kind of you to join us.”

“Hi everyone,” Dick said, loud enough so everyone could hear. “I’m the TA everyone told you about.” He noticed Jason leave his side as discreetly as possible and run up the stairs to take an empty spot against the wall at the back of the room. “You should thank him,” he pointed at Jason as he got near Bruce, dropping his bag against the desk. “I would be stuck in Introduction to Journalism with nowhere to go if it wasn’t for Jason showing me the way.”

“Thanks, Jason”, Bruce said dryly, not looking at Jason at all, who was trying to hide behind his bag and get his books out at the same time. “We left the manor at the same time,” Bruce whispered to Dick as he took off his coat. “Why do you always do this?”

“I stopped to buy Tim breakfast at Starbucks before reaching school because he stayed up all night working and didn’t eat this morning,” he answered between his teeth.

“Tim stayed up all night? He didn’t eat breakfast? How do I not know that?”

One student in the middle of the room cleared his throat and Dick shook his head at his father. “Let’s do that later.”

“Right,” Bruce said as he tried to shake off his fatherly worries for the time being. He still took the time to curse himself for being a bad father and not noticing what was going on in Tim’s life. He turned back to face his students, sliding the stack of papers on his desk towards Dick. “Now that we’re all here, let’s get to it. Richard will distribute the syllabus for this semester, and if you have any questions, don’t hesitate…”

***                           

Dick made his way to the cafeteria, greeting older students as he walked past them, happy class had started again. He realized that probably sounded a bit ridiculous, but he had always liked school. He’d been roaming the hallways ever since he’d been a kid. He remembered being five or six, terrified of the gloomy silence of the manor, missing the imposing man that was somehow distant to everyone but always kind to him and that insisted he could call him dad, taking him to work so he wouldn’t have to be alone when he wasn’t in school. Bruce had understood Dick’s need to be around people, to have noise and activity around him after his parent’s deaths, and the university’s buildings had always meant safety to the young man. Maybe it was why he had insisted on staying around Bruce longer than needed. He remembered the power point he had sent him via email, titled  _ Why You Need A TA And Why It Should Be Me _ , to which Bruce had answered positively, pretending Dick had given him good reasons. The memory made Dick smile. He  _ really _ liked being here.

He carried his tray, walking around the room, wondering where to sit until he noticed a face he had been looking for when he had left Bruce’s classroom earlier. Jason was eating alone, taking very little space on a very big table. Dick wondered if the boy was purposely alone, or if he just didn’t know where else to sit. He decided to find out.

“We meet again, Jason Todd.”

Jason raised his head from the book he was reading.

“Am I bothering?” Dick added, sitting down next to him.

“You sat down anyway, so…” Jason just answered, waving a piece of his sandwich in the air.

Dick smiled at him, putting a carrot in his mouth, chewing as he looked at him. They stayed silent for a while, looking at each other.

“If you’re just going to stare at me, can you go eat your carrots elsewhere?” Jason ended up saying, glancing at his book as if it would make it clear enough that he had been doing something before Dick had showed up.

Dick opened his mouth to answer and was cut off by the arrival of a man that looked much taller than he really was when he was towering over the table, looking down at them.

“If it isn’t Mr. Introduction to Journalism!”

Clark pursed his lips at that, and Dick realized immediately it had been the wrong thing to say. He wasn’t sure how he could explain that his enthusiasm sometimes sounded rude but wasn’t  _ intended to be _ in the short time before the professor found something to answer, so he didn’t. Jason had stopped moving with his sandwich halfway to his mouth, looking a mix between pissed and embarrassed.

“Are you rude to every teacher or is it just because I don’t teach a class that’s  _ glamorous  _ enough for you?” Clark started. Dick opened his mouth and closed it when Clark pointed his finger at him, a gesture that very clearly meant  _ shut up _ . “I’m glad rude students apparently know each other,” he added, moving his finger to Jason’s face, who now looked very distressed. “Did you team up thinking it was funny to interrupt my class  _ twice  _ in five minutes to make the same ridiculous joke about teaching journalism?”

Dick turned to Jason, snorting. “You did that too?”

Jason mumbled, clearly regretting it. “It sounded funny at the time.”

Clark scoffed. “I don’t need my students thinking what I teach is a joke. I don’t know how arriving late and making fun of professors you don’t even know worked out for you so far, but—”

“Listen, Mr. Kent,” Dick started, realizing the man was  _ not  _ kidding. “I’m sorry if it came out wrong. We meant no disrespect to you or your class. It’s Monday morning, we’re all a little tired and a little stressed, and I think you should just relax.”

“Relax?” Clark said, louder this time. The students at the tables around turned around. Dick sighed, thinking all of it was very unnecessary drama. “I’m waiting for sincere apologies, and I don’t appreciate your tone.”

Dick looked at him, his smile slowly disappearing. The poor professor was clearly new here. Dick didn’t want to get mad at him. He understood the need for a new addition to the teaching staff to make sure he was being respected. “I think you’re taking it out of proportion. It was a harmless joke, I’m sure your students know that. There’s no need to come and yell at us as if we have something personal against you. I don’t know about Jason, but I was just trying to joke my way out of an uncomfortable situation. You’re overreacting.”

Jason didn’t seem to want to weigh in on the situation, looking from Clark to Dick cautiously. Dick couldn’t blame him. If he could have avoided loudly fighting with a teacher on his first day of class, he would have, too. Luckily for him, Dick had seen too many professors come and go to take irritated newbies too seriously. They would learn.

“Overreacting?” Clark said venomously, visibly annoyed at Dick’s reaction. “Who raised you?”

Jason’s eyes widened at that, like he knew the question was a mistake. Dick raised one eyebrow, sitting back on his chair. He saw someone walk to the table in the corner of his eye and decided to stay silent, just this once. He was about to be interrupted anyway.

***

Bruce had been following the fight from a table not too far away. He was sitting with Tim, trying to find a way to tell him that the fact he was only 15 and already in college was not a good excuse for him to stay up all night working instead of sleeping. Tim, who had been arguing that until Bruce could prove he was feeling any physical repercussion from his sleeping pattern, nothing would change, was hoping Dick would be smart enough to not get Bruce involved in said fight. It was working so far, until Clark raised his voice. Bruce had visibly tensed, talking to Tim but drilling holes in the new professor’s head with his eyes at the same time. 

“Who raised you?”

A high pitched screeching sound resonated as Bruce pushed his chair away from the table, the chair’s legs gliding loudly against the floor. He took three giant steps toward his oldest son’s table, and stood behind Clark.

“I did.”

Dick winked at Clark, just as Jason tried to discreetly gather his stuff and leave. Clark snarled at Dick and turned around, facing Bruce. He was taller than him, which didn’t seem to help. Bruce was looking at him like Clark was ten times smaller.

“If you have a problem with my son’s education, why don’t you take it up with me?”

“Good point,” Clark said. “You are?”

“Bruce Wayne,” Bruce said, knowing the effect his name usually had. “A journalism teacher that can’t even recognize the man that owns half the city he’s in… Why did we hire you again?”

There was a tensed silent as Clark tried to conceal the fact Bruce had a point. He gave him a small smile. “Maybe it’s because the administration wanted teachers that were  _ really  _ qualified, not just retired playboys that only have a shot at teaching because they pay for the library,” Clark offered.

The entire cafeteria had gone silent. Any other moment, Bruce would have backed off, he would have decided to be the bigger person and coldly end the argument, but something was churning in his stomach, something he didn’t want to accept and admit. Clark had hit a nerve without even doing it on purpose, and Bruce had always found it very hard to be the bigger person when it felt like someone was insulting the only thing he had worked hard to be proud of. He realized taking  _ who raised you  _ personally might have been petty, but showing Dick he had his back was more important. That, and even if he had wanted to control his emotions and act like an adult, he wouldn’t have succeeded.

“How long have you been here?” he asked Clark. “Do you really think you’re going to gain respect by insulting the most loved TA in the university  _ and  _ his parent who’s sitting right behind?”

“Oh, I’m  _ sorry _ ,” Clark answered, still snarling, “I think I misread the situation. I didn’t understand the father was twice as rude as the son.”

“And I don’t understand why you can’t stay in your goddamn lane, Journalism,” Bruce said aggressively, getting a step closer to Clark.

Silence settled between them again, and Bruce wondered if he had shut the other professor off for good. The flame of anger in his gut died down a little, and with that the rest of the world around him came back slowly, the suffocating smoke that often came with his outbursts dissipating. Dick was looking at him with worry in his eyes, and Tim had welcomed Jason to his table, taking the boy away from a fight that didn’t really concern him. He looked grateful, and Bruce, somehow, found it in him to be proud of Tim. He could always count on one of his sons to do something good while he acted inappropriately. He thought about the fact Tim was probably the opposite of  _ proud of him _ for picking a fight in the middle of the cafeteria. Suddenly, he was even more furious at Clark for making him do this. He hated himself for giving in to his anger again, for taking everything personally and thinking Dick needed to know Bruce was defending him. It was pathetic, seeking approval from his own son, who could have probably handled the situation on his own. He felt Oliver’s hand on his shoulder, and guessed it was his appearance by his side that had shut Clark up.

“Bruce,” he just said, very quietly, infinite kindness in his voice. Bruce’s heart tightened in his chest and he shook his friend’s hand off his shoulder. Oliver didn’t mind, and stepped in between the two men. “Mr. Kent… Clark, is it? Can I call you Clark?”

Clark just glared at him.

“I’m going to call you Clark, Clark,” Oliver said. “Monday mornings are hard for everyone, but I’m sure all of us can find it in ourselves to chill out and bury that hatchet.”

“I’m not burying that hatchet,” Bruce said. Oliver stared at him. “I want him to apologize.”

“I’m not apologizing,” Clark answered. Oliver stared at  _ him _ .

Oliver gave both of them a smile, putting one hand on Bruce’s shoulder and the other on Clark’s. He squeezed Clark’s, and dropped his hand, pushing Bruce away gently at the same time. Bruce let himself back away, now that he had an excuse for doing it. Oliver got him far enough from Clark that he wouldn’t feel like fighting again, and forced him to turn around, putting his arm around his shoulder.

“Bruce.”

“I wasn’t going to just sit there,” Bruce said, still fuming, doing his best to contain it. He was good at this. “I wasn’t.”

“Bruce,” Oliver repeated. “I’m not defending him. He sounds like a tool. But still.”

Bruce shook his arm off again and stopped walking, glancing back at Dick. He saw him throw a small piece of carrot at Clark, the orange vegetable bouncing off the rim of his glasses. Dick walked to him after that, ignoring the professor’s reaction. Diana Prince, from the Classics department, had left the teacher’s table to stand next to Clark, pulling him along toward the other side of the room, probably so that he wouldn’t charge at Bruce again.

“You didn’t have to throw that carrot,” Bruce told Dick as his son got near enough to hear him.

“I wasn’t gonna let you win the most petty award. I  _ had _ to throw that carrot.”

“He had to throw that carrot,” Oliver insisted.

Bruce looked at them, knowing they were trying to make him feel better, refusing to let them succeed. Instead of allowing himself the relief of knowing he had friends and family that had his back, he looked for Tim, wondering where the kid had gone. He had been in the middle of a conversation with him, and he knew his son wouldn’t be mad at him for cutting it short to focus on Dick, but he felt like he should have. Desperately trying to punish himself for doing everything wrong, he compensated for the absence of the boy’s anger with self-hatred, enough for two. “Where’s Tim?” he asked Dick.

“Jason looked really uncomfortable, so Tim invited him to eat outside with him.”

“Jason?”

Dick shrugged. “He was alone at lunch, I thought I’d keep him company, but then Mr. Kent arrived and that kind of screwed up my plans.”

Bruce nodded firmly and looked at his watch. “I’m going to my office to get ready for this afternoon’s class,” he said to no one in particular. He turned on his heels, walking as fast as he could toward the exit.

“Do you want company?” he heard Oliver say in his back, and didn’t answer. “He doesn’t want company,” Oliver told Dick with a sigh.

_ Go figure _ was the last thing Bruce heard before he got too far away to hear the rest. He knew Dick was probably worrying, and didn’t find it in himself to turn around and tell him it was okay. His phone beeped as he reached his office, which was too big for him. Usually, he had one of his kids sitting in the corner, or studying at his desk, or just hanging around, and it felt smaller and it felt more like home. The only company Bruce currently had was his bottled anger and the nagging feeling that Clark’s interrogation had been a good point. He knew he was probably the one overreacting. Dick had turned out great. Bruce just wasn’t too sure if it was thanks to the education he had clumsily tried to give him. It probably wasn’t. Bruce decided not to dwell over it, instead focusing on what he would do the next time he saw Clark Kent and his pretty face. He hoped the professor would be apologizing and telling him he was going back to Metropolis. That would be a great thing. He didn’t think Clark Kent had any future here. Especially not if Bruce Wayne was around.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank u len for quality beta reading and all u guys commenting on chap 1 YOU ARE ALL SOFT AND KIND

 Jason rolled on his back, accidentally elbowing Roy in the face. The bed was too small for the two of them. Jason didn’t mind. It was the biggest bed he’d ever slept in in his entire life. Roy groaned against him, and Jason stopped moving. There was a voice in his head telling him sleeping with the guy that had the room right next to his was a bad idea, and that he didn’t need to give himself more opportunities to fuck up his very precious college experience. Admittedly, they had both agreed they needed a friend, and that this would just be a one-time thing, but still. Like a lot of things, though, he didn’t really have time to think about it, and he pushed himself up, leaving the bed miraculously without hitting Roy in the face a second time. The man was still half asleep, probably still drunk, most likely hangover. Jason rubbed his forehead, grateful _he_ hadn’t drank that much, glad he wasn’t fucking up _that_ bad. He grabbed his clothes from the floor, picking up a towel from his cupboard at the same time. He wished he’d had enough money for the bigger rooms, with bathrooms included, but that was another thing he had never really been used to. Really, what bothered him the most was that those rooms existed so close to him, and that he was _nearly_ there. The bitterness nagged at his heart and he closed his eyes slowly, willing it away. During the short time it took him to calm down, Roy woke up.

“What time is it?”

“Five thirty,” Jason said. “I told you I had to leave for work early this morning.”

“Don’t you have class?” Roy groaned, turning in bed to face him.

The covers had slipped from his upper body, hanging low at his hipbones. Jason’s stomach felt warm, suddenly. He shook his head as if it would make the thoughts go away. “I have class at eleven.”

“When do you live?” asked Roy, yawning. “When do you  _ study _ ?”

Jason shrugged. “How do you have enough money to eat?”

Roy chuckled. “I live on Cheetos.”

“Well. I don’t,” Jason just answered.

Roy got out of bed, grabbing his boxers from the ground, looking pissed. He winced, probably from the headache he was surely battling right now. “I’m glad you can afford good food,” he spat out, walking past Jason.

“I can afford it because I have two jobs,” Jason felt compelled to say, justifying himself, hating it and himself all together for always, always having excuses.

“And a Wayne scholarship.”

“You have a scholarship too.”

“Not as big as yours,” Roy answered.

Jason sighed, feeling it was too early to have this conversation. “A lot of your things aren’t as big as mine,” he ended up saying.

“That was low, Todd,” Roy said, opening the door to get back to his room. He turned to say something else, and decided against it, slamming the door shut on his way out.

Jason grimaced, hoping Roy hadn’t woken up the entire floor. He felt stupid, staring at the door uselessly, wanting to find the boy and justify himself again. He wished someone could have been here to tell him he should be proud and not ashamed of the help he was getting just so he could afford going to college, but he was alone, just like he’d been all his life. Stuck between his guilt and his determination, decided to do good, embarrassed he couldn’t do it on his own. The Wayne scholarship had saved his year. If he was honest, probably his life, too. He knew he was luckier than most to have gotten it, to have been selected to get all that money. He knew Roy had applied, too, and he knew that he had gotten another one. One that gave him less money and more troubles. Jason couldn’t really be mad at the Wayne foundation for not giving out more scholarships. It was a  _ lot  _ of money. Considering Roy spent on alcohol half the money he should have been spending on food, Jason could understand the selective process. But still. Still, Roy was struggling to get his head out of the water, and Jason was aware of the fact the only reason he himself was still alive and somewhat okay was because he was stronger than most. He could work two jobs and double major in a good college and still pull it off. He had those skills. It just infuriated him that poor people that  _ didn’t _ would have to either die or live off Cheetos their entire lives. He couldn’t be proud that he was brave, because bravery only meant surviving to him. And Jason was too busy doing exactly that to stop and congratulate himself for it.

Jason stuck to what he had planned. He went to work, he went to school, he found a way to take one of Bruce Wayne’s classes, he found a way to be on top of that class, and then he would be able to thank him properly and maybe feel like he had made  _ someone _ proud. In the letter he had gotten, the letter that had made him break the promise he had made to his younger self that he would never cry again, they had said Bruce Wayne himself had looked through every single application and handpicked people he thought deserved the scholarship, deserve to have a shot at doing great in college, deserved to have a shot at founding their own enterprises. Jason had kept the letter, had taken it with him when he had moved to the Gotham U dorms, swearing he would bring it to Wayne himself at the end of the semester, when he would be able to tell Bruce he had been right to trust him. When he could bring the man proof that he hadn’t disappointed. That he had been a good investment. That he hadn’t wasted any of it. 

But for now, if he wanted to keep his word to Roy that he wasn’t living on Cheetos, he needed to hurry up and avoid being late to work. He had spent too much time dwelling on Bruce Wayne, and it was too embarrassing to be a good reason to skip his shift.

***

“No phones at the table.”

Bruce turned around, half a pancake hanging from his mouth. He looked down at Damian, who looked surprisingly angry for a little kid that had just woken up, and raised an eyebrow.

“Are you just jealous you don’t have one yet?” he asked, chewing on his pancake.

“No,” answered Damian, crossing his arm. His plush dog fell to the ground as he moved, but he pretended he didn’t see. “How do you want us to respect the rules if you ignore them?”

Bruce heard Alfred giggle and he raised his head.

“He has a point, sir.”

“See?” Damian insisted. “I have a  _ point _ . And no talking with your mouth full.”

“That’s a rule?” asked Bruce, swallowing his food.

“One of mine, sir,” Alfred pointed out.

Bruce shook his head and put his phone down, extending his arms so that his son would stop pouting and get to the table. Damian let a second go, as he often did, and ended up jumping in the big embrace, sitting on Bruce’s lap. He stayed there for a while, eating his father’s pancakes and drinking his coffee while Bruce pretended he wasn’t looking— just a sip, or it was Alfred who would get mad.

Bruce ended up making a deal with his youngest son. Damian would let him use his phone at the table for the rest of his breakfast  _ if  _ Bruce took him to class with him all of next week, which Bruce agreed to, mostly because he really liked having his son around, partly because he really needed to finish typing that email.

They were interrupted by Dick, who walked in the kitchen, picking up his little brother’s plush toy at the same time.

“You let a fallen soldier behind you,” he told him as he ruffled his hair. Damian picked up the dog and left the kitchen with Alfred, who was very intent on not letting the rest of the family make the little one late to class. “No phones at the table,” Dick told Bruce as he sat down in front of him.

Bruce groaned, but refused to put the phone down. “It’s an important email,” he just said. “Have you seen Tim?”

“He’s sleeping, I think,” Dick answered. “You know how he is in the morning.”

“How is he in the morning?”

Dick stared. “Uh… Asleep, mostly.”

Bruce put his phone against his ear, nodding. He waited for a minute, until he heard his second son’s voice on the phone. “Tim. You’re going to be late to class.”

_ “Who is this? _ ” Tim said on the phone, which made Dick snort.  _ “Just five for minutes.” _

“It’s your father. You’re not leaving without eating breakfast.”

Tim groaned.  _ “If you wanted me to eat breakfast, you should have called earlier.” _

Bruce was about to answer when the tonality went dead, and he shook his head for the third time this morning. The one time anyone could catch Tim  _ really  _ acting his age, a grumpy teenager that just wanted to be left alone, was very early in the morning. Bruce found it endearing. He found everything that made his kids look younger than they were endearing. The fact Dick was about to be 23 was already too much to bear, and it was always pleasant to talk to a Tim that wasn’t making sure everyone wondered whether he was 13 or 30.

“We got our classroom back, by the way,” Bruce said as he got up from the table, finishing his coffee quickly. Dick squinted at him, and he shrugged like he hadn’t been trying to kick Clark Kent out of it for a week. “No reason we should be the ones moving. It’s only fair.”

“Do you really want to do this?” Dick asked.

Bruce cleared his throat and pocketed his phone. With practiced simplicity, he gave Dick another one shoulder shrug. “Do what?”

***

Clark was sipping his coffee groggily, looking through the window. His little flat was on the other side of the street where Gotham U’s main entrance was, and he was happy about it. He loved people watching, and he especially loved watching students. They were young, and most of them still walked like nothing could possibly get to them. It was funny, he found, how invincible they looked as they smoked outside or walked to the gates or climbed out of their cars, and yet how utterly dead they looked once he was in front of them in class. He guessed he was too old to remember if he’d been the same way when he’d been going to college, but he was not  _ too  _ old that it really bothered him if they lost all energy in the time it took them to go from the gates to class. He could relate to the feeling.

He was nearly done with his toast and about to decide this was the start of a good day when a Lamborghini Espada pulled up right in front of the gates. Some Gotham students had money, but none of them were  _ that  _ rich. The few of them that had access to the kind of money that got you a Lamborghini for college were not studying at Gotham U. Great detective that he was, Clark deducted that he would see the Wayne kids walk out of that car. Dick’s mass of black hair proved him right, along with the old man that opened Bruce’s door. Clark gave Bruce a death glare from his window, as if the man would see it from here. Bruce suddenly turned his head in his direction and Clark backed away into his living room, spilling some coffee on the floor. As it turned out, Bruce was simply talking to Tim, who was going out of the car directly on the street, which seemed to upset his father.

“Pull yourself together, Clark,” he mumbled.

He decided to stop his student prying and get on with his day. It had been a week since the confrontation with Bruce, and they had successfully avoided each other so far. Monday had come around again, and he knew their schedules would confront again. They gave class in the same  _ hallway _ . He prayed for peace and put his dishes in the sink, sighing as the pile grew each passing day. It wasn’t that he was  _ that  _ busy, really, he hadn’t made any friend in Gotham yet, but he was just really fucking lazy. His flat was too small for it to be in such a mess, but as long as he could go from his door to his bed and back without losing his notes at the same time, then he didn’t need more. He had been glad he’d agreed to take the flat the university offered him when he got here. It was cozy, and cute, and close enough to his workplace that he could get up as late as he wanted and still be almost on time.

As a matter of fact, he got to work early enough for another coffee, and decided to sit around the professor’s common room. It was more than time to make friends with his colleagues. He wasn’t supposed to stay long, he was replacing another professor on maternity leave, but he wasn’t good with loneliness. He missed Metropolis, he missed the team that he loved there, and above all, he missed his students. He liked keeping track of them, and was always very friendly. Knowing all of this was temporary had made his mood terrible all week-end, and he wanted it to stop. The one friend he believed he had made so far was Diana Prince, who had been the first – and only – person to talk to  _ him  _ after the Bruce debacle, and she had been nice enough to let him gravitate around her at lunch from times to times. Other than that, he had been eating alone and going home early, waiting for the university to get its shit together and give him a proper office.

Diana was standing next to the coffee machine when he got near, talking to a girl that sounded way too enthusiastic for the early morning.

“Hi, Diana,” Clark said, almost too low for her to hear. Yelling at Bruce in a room packed with students had been rather easy with the anger helping, but Clark was shyer than people expected, and Diana was so beautiful and smart and clever and nice that he felt unworthy of her presence. “Had a good week end?”

“You’re Clark Kent?” The enthusiastic girl said before Diana could answer. “The Clark Kent that picked a fight with Mr. Wayne last week?”

Diana put a hand on her shoulder. “Cass.”

“Uh… Yeah, that’s me,” Clark said, taking his coffee from the machine, wondering whether or not he should be proud to have this reputation so soon. “Why?”

“Apparently Mr. Queen told Mr. Jordan who told Mr. Allen who told Dick who told Wally who told  _ me _ that Mr. Wayne argued with Ms. Quinn in the administration office  _ all week _ to kick you out of his Monday classroom.”

Clark squinted at her, trying to keep up. “Wait… What?”

Diana hid a smirk behind her wrist. “I’m not surprised.”

“Who… Who are those people? Is this for real?” Clark took his phone out of his pocket, trying to see if he had been warned about this. If he hadn’t gotten an email this morning, that meant he had an entire class of 100 students with no classroom and a lecture to give in 10 minutes. “I… I had no idea about this!”

“Do you want me to show you where the administration offices are?” asked Diana. “I’m sure they must have worked something out.” She made a face like she knew administration well, and like she also knew they probably hadn’t worked anything out. “Didn’t they give you another class number?”

“I don’t know,” repeated Clark. “I don’t know.” He dropped his coffee in the trashcan next to the machine and picked his bag from the floor, pushing past the two girls. There was no way he was letting this happen. He climbed the stairs to the building two by two, furious enough that students actually got out of his way as he walked past. It took him 10 minutes to locate his old classroom, that was technically Bruce’s, but that he really wanted to be his, and the hallways had emptied slowly. He stopped in front of the door, took a deep breath and opened the door wide open, letting it slam against the opposite wall. Every head turned to him, including Bruce’s, who was wearing the shadow of a grin on his face. Clark wanted to wipe it off. It was infuriating, and kind of hot, which was distracting, and not what Clark wanted to have in mind.

“Mr. Wayne. Can we talk outside for a second?”

Bruce cocked his head. He looked at his students, pretending he was considering the matter, and handed up giving Dick the screen’s remote. “Start without me,” he told him, giving Clark a quick nod. He walked to the door and closed it behind him. “Can I help you?”

“Where are my students?” Clark asked, cutting to the chase. He was already late as it was.

Bruce squinted at him. “How would I know?”

“You know why you would know. You set me up.”

“I set you up?” Bruce repeated, biting his bottom lip so he wouldn’t laugh. “How dramatic. I merely asked to get my class back. The other one was too small.”

Clark scoffed. “You have at most seventy students. I have more than a hundred.”

“They like to have empty seats between them,” Bruce pointed out helpfully. “It helps them focus.”

Clark looked at him, and Bruce stared back, the grin definitely showing a bit more now. He was savoring an easy victory. “You have issues,” Clark just answered.

“You’re too impulsive,” Bruce said with a half shrug. “You should use your weekend to relax. Especially if you don’t want to look for your students every Monday.” Bruce opened his mouth to say something else, and hesitated. He clicked his tongue instead, and ended up sighing. “Anger doesn’t suit you.”

“I’ll get my revenge,” Clark answered, pointing his finger at Bruce’s face. Bruce didn’t move, so Clark pushed his finger forward, bopping Bruce’s nose. Bruce took a step back, frowning. If Clark wasn’t trying to keep his composure so bad, he would have laughed. Bruce rubbed his nose with his sleeve, as if Clark had mortally offended him. “You just wait.”

Bruce put his arm back down, shoving his hand in his pocket. “The only people waiting right now are your students,” he said with a wink as he walked back to his room.

The door opened next to a familiar face that had probably heard the entire conversation. Jason Todd, sitting first row against the wall, was laughing in silence, glancing at Clark in the hallway. Clark sent him a relatively childish mean glare and turned back around, trotting toward the administration building, losing all hope of giving class this morning.

He walked to the first desk he could find that would help him. He explained the situation and was redirected to another office and another desk, where he faced a man named Harvey that really had no intention of actually helping him.

He was sent to another office, Harley Quinn’s, who told him they  _ had  _ actually sent him an email. They compared the address, and realized Harley had the wrong one. She found the whole story very funny, and guessed that Bruce probably had changed his email address so that he wouldn’t get the notice. Unfortunately, the entire thing took about thirty minutes, and he doubted there were any student left waiting for him at that point. Instead, he decided to find out why they let Bruce do that kind of stuff, and didn’t get very far either.

“How… Why did you even let him take his classroom back?”

Harley chewed on her pen. “Well, first of all, you’re a Gemini.” Clark stared at her, his mouth half open. She smiled. “Second of all, I’m responsible for all the timetable and classrooms changes, and my alignment is chaotic evil.”

“What does that  _ mean _ ,” Clark answered, desperate and more confused than angry. “He changed my school email address so I wouldn’t know about it!”

Harley started laughing. “His alignment is chaotic good.”

“Good?” Clark roared. “Tell me where my students are!”

“ _ God _ ,” she said, rolling back on her chair. “So much anger. Why do you want to have class so bad?”

“It’s what I’m paid for,” he answered between clenched teeth.

Harley popped her chewing gum. “And I’m paid to make this university function on a daily basis. We can’t always get what we want.”

Clark sighed. It was a long, painful, tired sighing.

“Are you gonna quit?” Harley asked with a grin. She looked very eager to know. “You look like you’re going to quit.”

“I’m not quitting,” he said. “I’m going to find a way to get back at him. I don’t know how, considering I know  _ nothing  _ about this place and I have no friends, but I’ll find a way.”

Harley considered that, and nodded. “You need allies.” Clark raised his head, almost hopeful. Harley made a face. “What? Not me. I’m Team Bruce.”

“What? Why are you Team Bruce?” He realized what he was saying and wondered if he was dreaming.  _ Team Bruce _ .

She winked at him but said nothing else. She pointed at the door, going back to what she was doing on her screen before he arrived. “ _ Z-337.  _ For next week. Now go.”

“Thank you,” he just muttered as he turned around, going for the door.

“Hey, Journalism!” she said right before he closed it. He looked at her, hands on the door handle, wishing everyone would just leave him alone. “If he does all that, it means he kinda likes you.”

“What?”

“Close the door on your way out,” Harley finished. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yet again thank u len for the beta reading and hummy the excited twitter cheering and all of u. u are still all soft and kind for being so nice about this fic!! i hope u like the chapter

“Jason!”

Jason turned his head, looking for the person that was screaming his name in the hallway. He’d been hanging out with Roy in front of the class he was supposed to get in in about ten minutes, and was extremely surprised anyone else but his dorm neighbor knew who he was, much less wanted anything to do with him. He didn’t quite fit in the landscape. That’s why he only stayed with Roy, who had apologized for the way they had parted last time. _It was early, I hadn’t gotten my coffee yet, you were being a dick. Didn’t help with my mood._ They both had decided to forget about it and be friends. Nothing but friends, they had also agreed on. Considering they were both in similar situations and could really understand each other, something rare enough in college, they both thought it would be a mistake to ruin it all by sleeping together whenever they felt like it. Those kind of relationships never ended well. They wanted their friendship to end well. Maybe if they were allies in college, they would stay friend later on. They would have liked that very much.

“Jason, hi!”

Roy glared at the kid that had finally reached his friend and squinted. “Who’s that?”

“I’m Tim,” Tim said, extending his hand.

Roy looked at him, then at Jason. “Who’s that?”

“Hey, Tim,” Jason said, shaking Tim’s hand so he wouldn’t stay hanging. “What’s up?” he asked, ignoring Roy’s question. He wouldn’t really know what to say. Tim was that guy that had saved him from the Kent/Wayne disaster, but he wouldn’t call him a friend. Saying it to his face seemed rude, and so he said nothing.

“You in Dinah’s class?” Tim asked with a smile, seemingly not minding Roy’s obvious glaring.

“Who’s Dinah?”               

Tim chuckled. “Sorry. Ms. Lance. The psychology professor?”

“You call her Dinah?” Roy asked, grinning. “Who is she, your mom?”

“Friend of the family,” Tim precised.

There was a silence, and Tim started realizing Roy wasn’t particularly friendly. He was eyeing Tim’s suit collar and expensive bag with a glare that Tim had seen before a few times, one he wasn’t used to, and that he despised. He hated these kind of looks not because they personally hurt him, but because he knew where they were coming from, and he couldn’t do anything about it. He could take those looks, he was just sad he didn’t have the immediate ability to make it better for Roy. It was what he wanted to do with his life, when he would be older and with more opportunities to actually _change_ things. That’s the only thing he wanted to achieve. Like his dad had done. Like Bruce.

He realized he probably would never be friends with Roy, and wondered if the best thing to do wouldn’t be to leave the two of them alone. He really wanted to hang out with Jason, who he found pretty cool and pretty cute, but he didn’t want to bother anyone either, and he understood that he couldn’t be friends with everyone. Not for lack of trying.

“I’m gonna…” Tim started, clearing his throat. “Get to class,” he just lamely finished. Jason gave him a small smile, and Tim felt better suddenly. “I’m keeping you a spot, if you want,” he finished, disappearing in the room.

Jason watched him go, not really knowing what to tell him.

“Is he a Wayne?” Roy asked.

Jason nodded. “Second, I think.”

“Yeah, but he was rich before, right? He’s so preppy.”

“They’re all rich,” Jason said, looking at his watch. “I gotta go. Catch you at lunch?”

Roy nodded and Jason entered the room. It was already quite full, and the last available spots were all the way at the top of the classroom. Tim was sitting next to the door on the first row, the chair against the wall next to him empty. He looked at the professor’s desk, that didn’t have a microphone, and decided to be nice to Tim. If he sat far away from Ms. Lance, he would probably fall asleep. He actually didn’t really know how he was still alive and standing. College was a lot of work, and he barely had time to sleep between his two jobs and his classes. If he didn’t have something to focus on, he would pass out. He moved toward Tim, who was typing on his computer, oblivious to his arrival.

“Can I still sit here?” Jason asked with another small smile. Making friends with Bruce’s kids wasn’t particularly on his program, but he guessed he could use those relationships later on.

Tim raised his head, all smiles and light heartedness. “Sure! Go ahead.” He moved his stuff so Jason would have all the room he needed. “Third, by the way.”

“What?”

“Third Wayne kid,” Tim just said.

Jason bit his lower lip. “You heard us?”

“You were right here,” Tim answered. “I’m not deaf.”

There was a small silence as Jason tried to come up with something. He was about to apologize, and realized he didn’t really have anything to apologize for. Tim _was_ preppy. He was also rich. He guessed it must have sounded like the boys were mad at him for it. Tim would have to deal with this on his free time. Jason wasn’t going to coddle him.

“It’s okay,” Tim added. “I didn’t take it personally.

Jason glared at him. “It was personal.”

“I mean I don’t mind. None of what you guys said were lies.”

 _My thoughts exactly_ , wanted to answer Jason, and didn’t. “How is it?” Jason asked instead. “Being a Wayne?”

“I’m not really a Wayne,” Tim said with a smile. Jason frowned. “I mean, I’m a Wayne. Bruce’s my dad. But I was a Drake longer than I was a Wayne. I’ve known Bruce all my life, though. But being a Wayne? It’s complicated. I’m a technicality. It’s…” He made a vague hand gesture and blushed, as if he realized he had said too much. “Whatever. If you want to know how it feels to be Bruce’s son, truly Bruce’s son, you should ask Dick. You shouldn’t ask me.”

Jason kept the information stored in a corner of his head. He had lots of things he wanted to ask Dick Grayson. None that he actually intended on asking him. Dick was tall and good looking and a with a specific brand of confidence that Jason was jealous of— Dick managed to be sure of himself in a way that wasn’t smug, but vulnerable. It seemed to help the man be honest with himself and his emotions. Dick Grayson looked like he was free to do anything, and that he would do it well. Jason had never been able to relate to that kind of feeling. He was impressed and pissed at the same time, which was a good way to describe a good part of how he was in touch with _his_ emotions. The more Jason saw Dick look so put together and healthy, the less Jason felt like he would ever get any of his life in place. The one thing he knew was that so far, gravitating around Dick (which had meant eating with him at lunch one time, and saying hi to him on his Monday class) had been too pleasant for him to stop thinking about it.

“What happened to the Drakes?” Jason asked absently, figuring that if Tim brought it up first, it meant it wasn’t that much of a touchy subject. He just hoped Tim wouldn’t ask _him_ what had happened to the Todds. He wouldn’t answer that question.

“They died when I was nine. Bruce took me in not so long after.” Jason nodded. Tim put his chin in his hand. “What about your pare-”

“Hi, class,” Dinah said at the same time, walking in, holding a coffee in one hand and her computer in the other. Jason appreciated her timing so much he could have gotten up and kissed her. Obviously, he didn’t, but he sent her the best smile he had anyway. She didn’t know what she had done for him, but he wanted her to see it anyway. “How are we all this week?”

She got sparse answers from the students, but didn’t let it kill her energy. She started class right away, which saved Jason from talking about family any longer. Damn him for being so curious.

One hour and a half in the class, Jason was trying not to zone out, his eyes blurry with tiredness and his pen dropping from his hand every 5 minutes. His entire notebook was made of beginning of sentences, two-three words that were supposed to mean something, and a definition written carelessly in the margin. He kept closing his eyes for periods that were way longer than acceptable blinking, and cursing himself every time his head dropped on his chest. He had noticed Tim glancing at him for the last thirty minutes and was trying to act cool as the boy typed really fast on his computer at the same time as he watched him, his brain working way faster than Jason deemed acceptable. The _click click click_ of everyone’s keyboards was like a lullaby. His head rested on his hand, slowly slipping as he wondered if he could ditch one of his job and still have enough money to live comfortably, the way he wanted to. He caught himself before his skull slammed his desk and ruffled his hair, trying yet another time to follow what Ms. Lance was saying. He really loved her as a professor, which made him feel even worse for falling asleep during her class. Tim handed him his bottle of water.

“It’ll wake you up,” he whispered, dropping it next to him.

Jason shook his head. “I’m good,” he lied. He put his chin back in his hand and stayed like this, head propped up. He blacked out 15 seconds later.

He woke up when his head smashed against his desk. It woke him up instantly, and he raised his head, scrambling to get back up, rubbing his hair where he had collided with the wood. The entire row, and the four behind him were all turned to him as he came back to his senses. The room got silent, and Dinah pinched her lips. “We’re going to take a break. Everyone come back in 15 minutes.”

That got everyone moving again, and they walked past Jason’s desk on their way out, as he rubbed his eyes, embarrassed and angry at himself.

“You okay?” Tim asked. “Rough night?”

Jason cleared his throat, now taking a sip of Tim’s water. “Long shift,” he answered.

“Long shift?”

“At work,” Jason said, not wanting to get into the specifics of how his two different job’s schedules made him get up at 5 and go back to bed at 2. Tim would probably feel sorry and say meaningless things that Jason didn’t want to hear. He already felt angry, he didn’t need to be _furious_. “I gotta work for a living,” he just finished.

Tim nodded like he understood. Jason took a deep, exhausted inhale. “If you want to go get some rest, I’ll give you my notes,” Tim offered.

Jason looked at him, ruffling his hair again, considering it. He didn’t really want to depend on anyone, and he especially did not want to owe a Wayne any more than he already did, but he really was tired. He had another class after lunch, and lunch was 2 hours away. If he walked back to his room, he could probably sleep for 3 hours, miss lunch, and be ready for his political theory class. But he wasn’t entirely sure he would handle the class on an empty stomach. He wasn’t sure he would wake up from his nap. He wasn’t sure he would ever be able to go to sleep while someone looked at him with pity, offering to do his work for him.

“I’m fine,” Jason finally ended up saying. “Thanks, though.”

“Are you sure?”

“I said I’m fine,” he repeated, getting up. He felt in his pockets for spare change, and almost cried with happiness when he realized he had enough for coffee. “I’m gonna get a coffee. Keep your notes.” _I don’t have a computer anyway_ , he wanted to say, and didn’t. He was saving up to buy a _good_ one. Now that he didn’t have to worry as much about food, where to sleep, and his college tuition, he didn’t want to invest in a shitty computer that would break on him in three months. He wanted the best. He wanted to have one fancy thing. Soon.

He came back to Tim with a hot cup in hand, putting it next to his stack of half empty paper.

“You won’t want the notes from the beginning of the class?” Tim asked.

Jason took a sip of his burning coffee and rubbed his left temple. He decided to curve the question. He was naturally curious, and before Dinah had started her class, he had wanted to ask more about Bruce Wayne, and what it entailed to be a part of the family. To have tragedy punch you in the face and for him to catch you as you fell. If it was just like Jason had imagined, or if it was just his younger self, reading the papers, fantasizing about the money and the manor and having brothers and a father and everything that went with it when the reality of it was much, much different. “So. _Third_ Wayne kid? Who’s the second?”

Tim frowned, taken aback by the question. He squirmed in his chair, visibly waiting for Jason to go _sorry, you don’t have to tell_. It wouldn’t come, Jason wanted to inform him. Unless it was about him, he didn’t shy away from touchy subjects. It was how you understood people, he had found out very early on. Tim sighed. “Cass.”

“Cass?” Jason tried to remember a girl in all the news he had seen about the Wayne family extending. He also tried to act like he didn’t know too much. It would just be creepy. “Who’s Cass?”

“She was a… foster kid,” he explained. Jason guessed the hesitation was because there _were_ some things that Tim wouldn’t say either. “Bruce took her in for a while, it was supposed to be temporary, and then she stayed anyway. He didn’t technically adopt her, she kept her last name and everything, but…” Tim sighed. “But when she says home, she means the manor.” He shrugged, like that last addition was meant to make Jason understand everything about the family. “Anyway, she’s, like, two years older than me. Both in the family and of age.”

“Where is she now?”

“Metropolis,” Tim answered. “She goes to college there. They have a special program for her, and she wanted to leave Gotham anyway.”

Jason felt a pang of jealousy, or bitterness, or envy. He didn’t really know what it was. He just knew he would have liked to have the opportunity to leave Gotham if he wanted, and a place to call home if he ever felt like going back.

“So what happens when you’ve been a Wayne longer than a Drake? I mean, it will come eventually, won’t it?” Jason asked between two sips of coffee. “What then?”

Tim looked at him and shook his head.

“Family’s complicated,” Tim said firmly, clearly noting the end of the conversation. “Especially ours.”

Jason gave him a crooked smile, and checked his watch, realizing the class would start again in a few minutes. He grabbed his pen, determined to get himself together. He’d sleep later. Right now, he had to build his future properly, so he would get children that would be free to go to Metropolis if they wanted. To leave home. _His_ home.

***

Bruce never ate in the cafeteria. He was very complicated with food, and had Alfred cook him up things he could take to work and store in the common room’s fridge. As the head of the Criminology department and a respected if not slightly scary professor, no one touched his food. They all knew whom it was, and it was only acceptable that someone made him food to take to school because it was his butler and not his mom cooking it, but it was common knowledge that it was here. Which was something that was about to change.

Bruce had been with Oliver and Dinah, wondering if he actually had the strength to eat with the married couple. They were his best friends, but sometimes they were too much, even (especially) for him. He’d been actively trying to dodge Dinah’s psychiatry related questions – _do you still take your meds? why do you keep avoiding my questions about your meds? why do you keep pushing back our appointments? is there something I should know about? –_ when they’d enter the department’s common room, and found Clark Kent, along with Barry Allen and Hal Jordan, sitting at a table, eating what looked very much like Bruce’s food.

“I’m just telling you you’re making a huge mistake,” Hal was saying. He turned his head as they all walked in, and got up and away from Clark, as if to make sure no one thought he was with him.

“Brucie!” Barry said, smiling at the man like everything was fine.

Clark had his mouth full, so he said nothing. Of course.

“Are you eating my food?” Bruce just asked, confused, not fully realizing the levels of pettiness this had reached. “What are you doing?”

Clark swallowed slowly, raising his head like he’d just notice Bruce’s presence. “Your butler makes delicious food.”

“Wh…” Bruce just went, turning to Oliver, who was hiding a smile behind his sleeve. He turned back to Hal. “Explain.”

Hal raised his palms in the air. “I had nothing to do with that.”

“You take my classroom, I take your food,” Clark said, putting the fork down.

“It was _my_ classroom!” Bruce exclaimed right as Oliver burst out laughing behind him. “It’s not funny!” He told Oliver, feeling like he was a 5 years old, stomping his foot on the floor because he was upset. “How did you even know I had food here?” he asked Clark, trying to find the traitor in the midst.

“Barry told me.”

Bruce glared at Barry. “ _Of fucking course_ Barry told you.”

The chemistry teacher bit back a chuckle. “Look. It’s not the end of the world. _Someone_ needs to be Team Clark. You were bullying the poor man.”

“I wasn’t _bullying_ him,” Bruce objected. He walked to the table, grabbing the lunchbox and pulling it back toward him.

Clark made a noise of protest. “I wasn’t done!”

“You’re done alright,” Bruce growled. They stared at each other, Bruce realizing he had bent forward to retrieve his food, and they were much closer than he initially had planned. Clark was looking up at him, not a care in the world, handling his stare like it was the easiest thing he’d ever done. Most people shied away from his piercing blue eyes. People he didn’t know well avoided the sheer intensity of his stare, and people he knew well were often tired of staring back into eyes that betrayed the emotions he refused to openly show. His eyes were liars, and no one liked them. Except Clark, that didn’t seem to mind gaping at his face like he was a very interesting study. “Barry,” he said, still looking at Clark, because it was proving harder than planned to tear his eyes away from the other professor’s face, “I’m not above poisoning your food, so I suggest you avoid eating around me for the rest of your life.” He finally broke free from Clark’s gaze, and grabbed the little remains of his lunch. “I’ll get my revenge.”

He turned around, walking toward his friends. Dinah punched him in the shoulder. “Come on. Drop it.”

“I’m not dropping it,” Bruce answered as he walked past them. He nearly collided into Dick, who was leaning against the door, looking confused. Bruce saved him the trouble. “Clark Kent ate my food,” he said, more pitifully than intended.

Dick cocked his head at the journalism professor. “You what now?”

Bruce left the room before he got an answer. Now he had to hurry to find something else to eat before his afternoon class, or he’d teach on an empty stomach, and that never did him any good. He considered taking the opportunity to skip his meds, considering he didn’t really have any food to take them with. The thought surprised him, because it came automatically. He was finding new ways to fuck himself up further and it wasn’t even on purpose anymore. He had thought of his stupid meds and had directly came up with a reason _not_ to take them. It surprised him, because, weirdly, he felt good. He knew it wasn’t a reason to pretend he didn’t need the pills, Dinah had told him _many_ times, but he felt… alive. More alive than he had the past semester. Maybe it was just his brain finally deciding to work with him. Maybe it was the challenge Clark presented, and focusing to try and come up with a good revenge plot. Maybe it was seeing someone new that didn’t treat him like he was some kind of distant entity that was terrifying and a giant _stay away_ sign. Maybe it was that something interesting was happening in his life, and that he liked interesting things. Sometimes he forgot he did. He forgot his love for what he was teaching had always been there, that his younger self had always wanted to be a detective. That he did have things he was passionate about. That everything he paid for in Gotham, everything that had been improved in his city had come directly from the good parts of his heart. From times to times, he forgot all that, until something or someone triggered him into reminding himself that maybe being alive wasn’t _all_ bad. That maybe he could find a reason to do it a while longer.

He reached his office and grabbed the tiny bottle holding his pills in his pocket and popped it open, swallowing his daily dose with the rest of the food in his lunchbox.

***

Clark looked at Bruce go, the flicker of a smile on his lips. He wouldn’t have said it out loud, but he was actually very eager to see what Bruce would come up with next. He had finally found allies, after he’d _beg_ Diana to tell him who would be most likely to help him. He had first explained his desperate cause to Barry’s girlfriend, Iris, who was also a journalism professor, and that had taken pity. She explained it to Barry over dinner, matter-of-factly, and the guy was _thrilled_ that somebody was actually looking for ways to get back at Bruce. And here he was, with a full stomach and a grin on his face.

“Thank you for your invaluable help,” he told Barry, that was drumming his fingers on the table. “Much appreciated.”

“You’re welcome. Annoying Bruce Wayne is the most entertaining thing I can do at work,” he answered with a wink. “Alright, I’ll leave you to it. Gotta meet with Iris before I get home. I bet she’ll be glad to know you’re not a victim anymore.”

Clark didn’t have to answer before the man left, and he sat back in his chair, contemplating what _he_ was going to do this afternoon. He didn’t have any classes, and he wasn’t a fan of giving his students essays so early in the year. He glanced at Dick, who had sat down next to him with a coffee.

“Are we still mad at each other?” The TA asked with a smile.

Clark shook his head. “The beef’s with your father now. We’re good.”

Dick nodded, grinning in the plastic cup. “You should be lucky you have Barry on your side. You won’t find many people that are ready to fuck with Bruce like this.”

“I don’t understand why,” Clark answered. “He’s not even that impressive. He looks taller on pictures.” Dick snorted as Clark insisted. “It’s true. Why is everyone so eager to tell me they’re on his side?” he asked, glaring at Hal that ignored the question. “Is everyone afraid he’ll fire them or something?”

Hal didn’t ignore _that_ question. He made sure Bruce wasn’t around anymore. “You’re new here. You don’t know everything Bruce did for pretty much everyone and the university. Pranks are cool. Anything more than than that and that would equal a fight… People will side with Bruce. A lot of us owe him. He’s nothing like what you think he is.”

Clark squinted at him, squinted at Dick, and back at Hal. “What do you mean, he’s nothing like what I think he is?”

It’s Dick that answered that one as he got up, throwing his empty cup of coffee in the trash on the other side of the room. It fell right in it, and Dick made a gesture of victory. “When you know more about Bruce, if you ever get there, you’ll see what we mean. He’s not the self-centered rich playboy prick that he looks like.” Clark gave him a questioning look, and Dick shrugged at him. “He probably wishes he was. Anyway,” he finished, walking out of the room, the smile on his lips lingering. “In the meantime, please stop flirting with my dad.”

“What? I’m… I never… What do you m-” was the last thing Dick heard as he closed the door behind him.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK I WANT EVERYONE THAT'S READING THIS TO COMMENT AND TELL ME IF THEY'RE TEAM CLARK OR TEAM BRUCE the debate has been growing in the comments of the first two chaps and i want to know more about your personal opinions. it's time to make pins and personalized tshirts and root for your champion


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's me again!!  
> SEVERAL THINGS WITH THIS CHAPTER  
> \- thank u len for the A+ beta reading  
> \- THANK YOU TO EVERYONE THAT COMMENTED ON THE LAST CHAPTER i'm happy to announce team bruce won by far. 14 TO 5!!! WHY DOES EVERYONE HATE CLARK!!! the reasons were varied, some people roughly said my narrative would make anyone be team bruce, some said my narrative is the reason they went ahead and picked team clark. overall i'm gonna agree with the 3 people that were respectively team dick, team jason, and tim damian being cute. though because someone HAS to be i'll pick team tim. go my son  
> \- thank you to everyone that commented regardless of team stuff you're all very nice and you're the reason i have a new chapter to post so.. yea you guys you're too awesome and cool with me i love y'all  
> \- second special thanks to len for helping me come up w pranks and for listening to me talk about this fic when i didn't feel like writing it you're a true buddy  
> \- the fic finally has a chapter count! i'm not 100% sure if it's going to be 10 or 11 yet but it should be around that if my predictions are correct so... that's a thing
> 
> HAVE FUN

_September, Monday 14_ _th_

Clark entered his classroom, expecting trouble, because it was Monday and it meant it was time for Bruce Wayne’s personal vendetta again. Iris had (wisely) told him that the minute they had made rules about the ongoing war, the minute they had decided they wouldn’t touch any other classes but the Monday one, they had turned it into a petty dick contest that would only end terribly. Clark kind of agreed. He didn’t really care, though, because he had a very low sense of self preservation. That, and he was becoming more and more comfortable in Gotham U. The Kent/Wayne fight gave him a good reason to get up alert and ready on Mondays. So far, the jokes had been harmless, and he had a lot of fun getting back at him. He was just slightly scared of Bruce’s reputation, and how far he would go to win this. But Clark had an advantage: he didn’t actually have a reputation here yet, which meant anything he would do was surprising and took Bruce aback. There _were_ perks to being a newbie.

His students greeted him as he made his way to his desk.

“Today we’ll talk about…” Clark started, and then stopped abruptly as he put his computer on the table. Usually, he started his class as he plugged everything to the big screen behind him, and with the help of a smooth transition, he would go from talking about the week’s topic to talking about the power point he would have ready in the background. He couldn’t do that if he couldn’t plug his computer to the room's screen. “About…” He repeated, trailing off. His students were probably used to it by now, but he still felt sorry about the mess. “Give me two minutes,” he said, crouching under the desk.

When everything was right with the world, he just had to reach out and grab the cables that would allow him to put everything in place. Only this time, everything was gone. The cables had disappeared. It would have been upsetting any other day, but Clark knew why and knew where he had to go to get them. It would only make him late, and he wondered if Bruce was already running out of good ideas. Taking out the cables seemed too small a joke. _But whatever_ , he thought. One of them had to step down his game at some point. He was glad he wasn’t first.

“I’ll be right back,” he announced to his amused students. They probably knew perfectly well where he was going. “I have to get my cables back.”

He walked out, trotting in the hallway to Bruce’s class. A while ago, he wouldn’t have been certain to get them back, but ever since they had made clear rules about how this war would go, he knew Bruce would never put students that had come to class in trouble. He wasn’t interested in actually fucking up anyone’s education. One missing class had been enough to teach Clark a lesson, and it was between the two of them now. He would give the cables back. Clark didn’t bother knocking, and pushed the already half opened door, a smug grin prepared on his face.

“That was the lamest—” Clark only got that far before a bucket full of iced water, which had been put in a delicate equilibrium on top of the door, toppled over as he opened it, falling right on his face. It hit his skull with a _thomp_ and he stayed there, motionless, the realization of what had just happened hitting him way harder.

The entire class _burst out_ laughing as Clark took the bucket off his head, coughing as he spat water and breathed at the same time. He let it fall to the ground and rubbed his eyes. Bruce was leaning against his desk, biting his bottom lip, clearly containing his laughter, his shoulders shaking nevertheless. Clark turned his head, taking the sight in, the class loud with the noise of about a hundred students talking over each other. Dick Grayson was sitting on Jason Todd’s desk, filming the entire thing. He looked very happy about the situation.

“The lamest? You didn’t finish your sentence,” Bruce said, a grin much more smug than the one Clark had had. “Or perhaps I didn’t hear you.”

The students started laughing again, and Clark stayed silent, his mouth half open, trying to find a way to live his life after such a traumatic event. Eventually, the laughter died down, and Clark looked at Dick meanly enough that the boy put his phone down.

“You…” Clark started, looking at Bruce. Water was dripping from his hair to his face to his white shirt, sliding all the way to his pants, where it fell in a little puddle at his feet. Bruce was staring at him, and then he was staring at his chin, and then his glare dropped on his shirt, see-through and sticking to the skin of his flat chest. The glare dropped again and Clark stopped thinking about what Bruce was looking at. He just wondered if the heat in his cheeks would help him dry, or just make him look like even more of an idiot. He was about to talk when he noticed a small child sitting cross legged on Bruce’s desk, the only person in the room that did not seem to stop laughing. That got Clark ready to fight again, thinking it was especially humiliating to have a tiny version of Bruce laugh at his face like this. “I’ll make you pay,” Clark just said.

“Here,” Dick answered, appearing on his left. “Your cables.”

Clark took them and exited the room, wondering how he was going to explain to his students that he was going to have to give class still damp from Bruce’s move.    

 _September, Tuesday 15_ _th_

“Clark!” Oliver exclaimed as the man walked in the cafeteria. “So. How was class yesterday?”

The group of teachers, composed of Oliver, Dinah and Hal were eating together, and Clark had decided to join. Bruce, with Dick and Tim behind him, as well as the little kid that Clark had seen in class, sitting on Bruce’s lap, were two seats away. They made for a cute family picture, and were all listening to something on Bruce’s computer.

Clark sat down in front of Oliver, groaning. “Am I ever going to live this down?”

Hal chuckled. “Probably not.”

Clark groaned a second time.

“You got to admit,” Oliver said with a smirk, chewing on his fries, “it was a good move.”

“It was a _bitch_ move,” Dinah objected. “I would have punched him in the face.”

“That’s because you keep looking for excuses to punch him in the face,” Hal noted.

Dinah made a face, something that looked like _ok, fair_. Clark grinned at her. “Does that mean you’re on my team?”

Oliver shook his head at Clark. “She’s my wife. She’s team Oliver. Team _me_.” He smiled at Dinah. “Which means Team Bruce.”

The woman smiled sweetly at him. “Fuck off,” she said, her lips still curled in a nice smile. “If you’re Team Bruce, I’m Team Clark on principle. Sorry, Ollie.”

Clark was laughing as he looked at Ollie’s face, a mix of betrayal and offense in his grimace. Clark was about to ask Hal whether or not he was done trying to make sure Bruce knew he was on his side when he felt a splash of water against his cheek. He turned to his right, ready to get mad at whoever thought it would be funny. He had to drop his head, considering the person that had emptied a glass of water on his face was barely 50 inches.

“Stop bothering my dad,” the kid said, chin raised up, his little nose making him look much nicer than he would have wanted to. “Or next time the water will be acid.”

Clark took a napkin and wiped his face. The statement seemed so incongruous in the mouth of such a small human being. Yet somehow, it sounded like he _would_ actually do it. Like if he was left alone, this tiny child _would_ pour acid in a bucket and throw it at his face.

“Relax, mini-Bruce,” Clark said, frowning at him. “You barely even reached my face with your glass of water.”

“If I really wanted to reach your face, I would have,” said mini-Bruce. He looked hesitant, as if taken aback by Clark’s composure. “And I’m not a mini-Bruce. I’m the heir to the Wayne fortune and my name is Damian.”

“How would you do it?” asked Clark, trying to ignore the Waynes glaring at him from their corner of the table. “You’d have to reach the top of the door. Hold the big bucket of acid without spilling it. Your arms are way too weak, Richie Rich Micro-Bruce.”

Damian was about to throw the actual empty glass at his face when Tim told him not to. It only made Damian change the trajectory, and he threw it at Tim’s face instead. It flew over the table, and Bruce extended his hand, catching it in midair. Clark tried not to look impressed. Bruce put the glass down.

“Damian, let Mr. Kent eat,” Bruce said. “Come back here.”

“I’m defending you!”

Bruce couldn’t help but smile a little. It was strange, to see him around his sons. He was like a completely different person, someone that was softer, kinder, and that allowed light to show in his cracks. It was someone one could love, Clark thought.

“Thank you, Damian. You don’t need to.”

“Because you can defend yourself,” Damian asked as he walked back to his father, “Or because I can’t understand the difference between when you’re fighting and when you’re…” He looked for the words. “Like Dick said. Flirting?”

Clark raised his head up at Dick. Bruce turned his head, looking at his oldest son over his shoulder. Dick, that was chewing a piece of bread, looked at the two of them.

“Uh…” Oliver was laughing again, as Dinah put her face in her hands. Dick gave everyone a smile and opened his arms to Damian. “Anyway, come say goodbye to Cass, baby bat.”

Clark turned his head to Oliver, who was shaking his. Bruce, squinting, had gone back to focusing on the computer, visibly undisturbed by Dick’s comments. Considering Oliver’s face, Clark doubted he had been.

“Baby bat?” Clark asked to no one.

It was Hal who answered. “Bruce and Damian adopted bats a while ago. They went to a bat rescue thing, and now they’re sponsoring them.”

Clark frowned. “Why would anyone adopt a bat?”

“Damian cares about animals a lot,” Hal said. “It’s cute.”

“Does Bruce often take his kids to class with him?”

The three teachers nodded enthusiastically. “They’re here more often than not.”

Clark looked back at the Waynes, who were waving at the screen, to the _Cass_ they were probably speaking to. He didn’t ask anything else, trying not to get too curious about Bruce’s life. It wouldn’t do him any good.

 _September, Monday 21_ _st_

Bruce was always in class before his students got here. He liked being here first, taking in the empty room, closing his eyes slowly as he got himself ready. He loved teaching. He hadn’t always wanted to do that, until he’d adopted Dick when he’d been around 24. The kid had been so far behind in class when he’d taken him in. He was smart, which was what had allowed him to catch up so quickly on everything he had missed, but he would never have made it on his own. At the time, Bruce was trying to get better at being a functioning human being, and he had found solace in Dick’s grateful smile when he had told the boy he would help him with school, that he would stay in and personally make sure he was getting the education he deserved. He had found something that was worth doing when he had gotten closer to his first son, solely by spending hours hunched over textbooks, the two of them and Alfred slowly turning into the first safe place he had ever built for himself. The first feeling he could always go back to whenever his unreliable mood led him into dark corners, the first he had truly cherished enough to keep forever.

Dick had given him a way to stop spending his evenings wherever the wind would take him, and with that the belief that he would be excellent at using his brain to help others. It hadn’t always been easy, and Bruce had tripped on his way to being a good father and a good person, many times. He had struggled with getting help, and that had gotten him in trouble. He had disappointed Dick times and times again, had fought with Alfred to make sure no one would know that his 14 years old son had found him in the bathtub with blood everywhere, he had promised countless times to _never do that again_ and he had broken those promises one by one. But all this time, the one rock solid base he had built under his foot had been teaching.

He had worked for it and had first gotten his position at Gotham U by saving the university from bankruptcy, something he would probably have done anyway, and he had never left. Whatever happened during the week ends, he had always been here for his Monday classes. The first time a student had told him that he’d been the best professor he ever had and that he had changed his life, he had gone home and cried into Alfred’s shoulder, not quite knowing why. Gotham U had become the home he’d chosen, and he had made sure it would be as comfortable for him as it was for everyone else. He had created the Wayne scholarship, he had looked for professors that needed a job and couldn’t get one anywhere else, good people that needed saving the way he had a few years back— Hal Jordan had been a good example of that. Often at the expense of his own health, he had built Gotham U into what it was today, a prestigious university, notorious for how good it was to its students and professors. It was the one thing Bruce was sure he hadn’t messed up.

But it didn’t mean teaching was easy. Sometimes it was messy. Sometimes the noise and the crowds and standing alone in front of hundreds of people was too much. Sometimes he played Russian roulette with himself and he didn’t take his meds and he had to take a longer break than usual and his classes only lasted two hours. No one blamed him for it, something he was still quite confused about. Being bipolar, among other unfortunate things, was no fun.

Being early allowed him to have a vision of the room he taught in that was reassuring and soothing. It helped when things got too much. He could find his way back to the emptiness and silence that calmed him down if he knew it was here. It was another one of his safe places. He needed to find those everywhere he went.

His day dreaming stopped as he heard a noise on his left. He looked at Dick and Damian entering, a strange sight, considering Dick was practically always late on mornings. Bruce had left the Manor early. Partly because everyone being loud in the kitchen was giving him a headache, partly because he needed to make sure his class wasn’t booby trapped.

“Damian pushed me out of bed early so he would make it in time to show you this before class,” Dick said as a greeting, letting Damian run to his father, Dick’s phone in his hand.

Bruce crouched to get to his son’s size, looking at the screen. It was probably going to be the live cameras they had set up at the bat refuge, that showed the ones they had adopted. They had named them Bruce and Damian because they’d been too lazy to find other nicknames. The little bats were meant to be their animal counterparts. If it made Damian happy, it made Bruce happier. “Look at Bruce,” Damian said as he showed him, unsurprisingly, the live feed. “He’s about to sleep.”

“I’m jealous,” Dick noted, standing behind them. He couldn’t see much, but it didn’t really matter.

“Where’s Damian?” Bruce asked. He was looking at his son’s face more than he was looking at the phone, but it was alright. He liked seeing the glint of genuine happiness in the little boy’s eyes more than he cared for the sleepy bat. It was rare enough to see Damian’s eyes’s sparkle this way.

“Asleep already,” his son answered.

They stayed like this for a while, talking about the bats, Damian moving a little so that his favorite big brother could see, too. They almost didn’t hear the door opening. They all turned at the same time when Tim walked in, rubbing his eyes.

“You left without me,” Tim just said. Jason was standing right behind him, clearly uncomfortable. Bruce thought that Todd was probably wondering how he somehow managed to be there for every single Wayne drama.

Dick squeezed Bruce’s shoulder and took a step toward Tim, ruffling his hair. “I thought Bruce had taken you with him. I didn’t see you this morning, and Damian was rushing me out.”

“I was asleep,” Tim answered, bewildered. “Like every morning. I was asleep.”

“I left early,” Bruce felt compelled to add.

“You forgot about me! Alfred had to drive me back!”

Damian giggled and Bruce frowned at him.

Dick was about to ask something, and just pointed at Jason instead. “Did Alfred take him with you?”

Jason pinched his lips. “I was early too,” he said, clearing his throat. He had wanted to talk to Bruce before anyone else got here, but, evidently, he had failed. “I ran into Tim in the hallway.”

“The only good thing about my morning,” Tim said with a tight smile.

“Sorry, Tim,” Dick and Bruce answered at the same time.

“Well anyway,” Dick concluded, walking past his little brother, punching him jokingly in the shoulder. “I’m gonna go grab coffee. You wanna join me?” Tim scoffed at him but nodded anyway. Dick turned to Bruce right before leaving. “I’ll be back in 5. Don’t start class before I get back. I don’t want anyone to forget I was on time at least once.”

“I wouldn’t forget you,” answered Bruce with a smile.

Jason widened his eyes, the first to realize Bruce’s poor choice of words. Tim just stared ahead for three whole seconds and turned around, walking away in the hallway. Damian giggled again, and Dick just winced at his father before he jogged to catch up on his brother. Jason was left to stare at Bruce, who was looking at the empty spot where Tim had been.

“It’s not what I meant,” he told Jason, who pinched his lips and walked away from the class. He had no interest in talking to Bruce right now anymore, and he doubted Bruce wanted anything to do with him anyway.

Jason tried to hurry to catch up with the two boys. He felt like making sure Tim was fine. The boy wasn’t his responsibility, but they were friends now, and Jason was protective of his friends. That, and Tim always had that look in his eyes, like he was constantly chill and relaxed, but Jason could see that there was something behind it, that it was a practiced happiness. That Tim wasn’t one to say he wasn’t feeling alright, but he still desperately wanted someone to make sure he would be. Jason knew that look. He caught up with them in the stairs, walking three or four steps behind.

“You know he didn’t do it on purpose,” Dick was saying. “Neither did we.”

“I know, Dick, I’m not mad at you and Damian.” Tim answered, sighing. “Though I wonder why you thought I’d be with him.”

Jason frowned at that, trying to understand what kind of heavy meaning was behind the words. Maybe Bruce wasn’t as good as he had ridiculously hoped.

“It’s not so farfetched that he’d take you with him.”

“Has he ever?” Tim said, stopping dead in his tracks. Jason almost hit him in the back, not stopping fast enough. Tim turned to him, surprised.

“Sorry,” Jason said quickly. “I didn’t want to interrupt.”

“It’s fine,” the two brothers said at the same time.

Jason stared at them. _It’s fine_ , they repeated, Tim slipping back to a kind and happy look as Dick put his hand on his shoulder. Tim looked at him with a frown. “Weren’t you supposed to talk to Bruce?”

“I was,” Jason said. He adjusted his bag on his shoulder, and gave a small shrug. “But I’d rather get that coffee Dick was talking about instead. Wanted to make sure you were going to be fine.”

Tim was taken aback by the thought. “Fine?”

“Yeah,” Jason repeated. Dick gave him a guarded look, a mix between surprise and kindness that seemed to pierce right through him. He felt a blush creep up on his cheeks and shook his head, focusing back on Tim. “It was a dick move from… Mr. Wayne,” he said, for lack of a better way to call him.

Tim chuckled. “Don’t worry about me.”

“Don’t give me reasons to,” Jason insisted. He knew what it was, to be hurt by your family, and for some reason, he didn’t want Tim to experience that sting. Tim worked hard, and he was nice to everyone, and he deserved better than what he seemed to get.

“It’s alright,” Dick insisted. “It’s just… It’s Bruce. He’s not _that_ bad.”

“That’s because you’re his favorite,” muttered Tim between his teeth.

“What?” both Jason and Dick said at the same time. Dick because he didn’t want to believe Tim had said that, Jason because he genuinely hadn’t heard.

They were all cut off abruptly by a scream that sounded like ‘ _SURPRISE, BITCH_ ’ _,_ followed by a different, loud voice, which went ‘ _MOTHERFUCKER_ ’ in the hallway they had just left. They all ran back, climbing the stairs two by two, Dick ahead of them. He slid on his shoes and reached the center of the corridor. Tim did the same thing and collided with his brother, Jason right behind him. They all stopped dead in their tracks as they took in the scene.

Clark Kent was standing away from Bruce, his back against the wall, doubled over laughing, as Bruce looked at him with the fury of a thousand suns in his eyes, half his face and almost his entire hair spray painted neon green.

“I will literally murder you,” Bruce said, walking to Clark, who was now resting his head against the wall, tears running from his eyes as his laughter just didn’t stop. Students that were early were looking at the scene with equally amused eyes.

“It goes… It goes away in the shower,” Clark finally answered, wiping his eyes with his knuckles. “Maybe you can bring back that big bucket of yours and wash your hair before class start.” He had a hint of mischief in his eyes. “I can even help you set it up the door if you want.”

Bruce shook his head at him, biting back words that were probably new insults. They were somehow very close to each other now, Clark’s shoulders tensing against the wall as Bruce threateningly and impossibly got even closer. “You win this one, Kent. You win this one,” he whispered, probably so that no one would hear him say it. Maybe for another reason.

 _September 28_ _th_ _– October 28_ _th_

From that point on, things went rather fast. Days had turned into weeks that had all been quite eventful. A panicked Clark had had to run through his classroom to catch a live piglet when Bruce had opened the door in the middle of his class to let the animal run free. Clark, with the help of Dinah, had switched Bruce’s USB key to one that only contained a PowerPoint of the best giraffe pictures Clark had found on Google, and Bruce had had to go all the way to Barry’s class to get his prepared powerpoint back, because _of course_ Kent hadn’t kept the proper USB key on him. The week after that, Bruce had managed to get Clark’s class’s keys from Harley, and had locked Clark up in his classroom once all his students had left. He had spent a good hour knocking on the door from the inside, yelling at anyone that would listen that he _really_ needed to pee. He had retaliated by unscrewing what he could of Bruce’s desk. Bruce had leaned on it enough time during class that it had broken under him. When it had happened, Bruce had realized all he felt like doing was laughing, which had surprised both his students and Dick, who was getting genuinely worried about how far this was going. The two professors had been called down at the dean’s office, who had been kind of confused as to why he was forced to remind _Bruce Wayne_ and a professor that would only be here for two semesters that they couldn’t just damage university property like this and get away with it.

The pranks had ultimately slowed down with time. The mid-semester break was approaching, and with that midterms that gave Bruce and Clark less time to focus on each other and instead more time spent holding huge stacks of papers and drinking too much coffee. It didn’t stop Bruce from pouring salt in Clark’s morning cup one day, something that quickly backfired when the brown haired man spit it all on Bruce’s shirt three seconds later.

About a week and a half before the mid-semester break and the start of midterms, Oliver had decided to throw a party at his and Dinah’s place, claiming like he did every year that this would be the last time they could have fun before Christmas. It was kind of a tradition at Gotham U, and the core team of professor had expected it. People liked Oliver’s parties, and they were often memorable, and so everyone was happy about it. When Oliver had asked Clark to come, too, the man had asked whether or not Bruce would be here. Oliver, making sure he wouldn’t be lying to his future guest, had gone and asked Bruce if he could kindly confirm his yearly visit to the Queens’s apartment. The criminology professor had answered that he would show up if Clark did. Oliver had just stared at him for a long, long time, and had decided to stay out of it. He had a feeling Bruce would use the party as his other yearly event called _making out with a Gotham U professor_ , and that _this_ would be where the Kent/Wayne war left funny territory and reached a very different and dangerous one. Unfortunately, Oliver Queen wasn’t one to judge, and he knew better than to try and persuade Bruce Wayne to _not_ do something he wanted to do, and so he did the one thing that was in his power: he confirmed Bruce’s presence to Clark, and made sure the journalist would come. What else could he do?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so.. i hope you liked it  
> the next two chapters are the awaited party (i was the only one truly waiting for it but now you can wait with me too)  
> please keep me updated if you changed team or finally picked one. i'm just curious to see if people will feel sorry for how SMALL team clark is and get on his side lmao. the poor man  
> bye xxxxxxxxxxx


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello it's me.
> 
> FIRST OF ALL i just want to say team clark has a lot more members now. i'm not gonna say those are pity votes in his direction, but people definitely woke up to support team clark and it truly warms my heart. really it was just a mess this time around, some were really vocal about staying on bruce's side, and there was an uproar of team (insert batkid) with which i really agree. anyway that was the update on those damned TEAM that i hope we won't need anymore  
> also i'm sorry i lied my writing got out of control and it's not the party just yet but i don't think it will disappoint you (I HOPE) so yeah i just. added one chapter before that just for kicks. have fun guys and thank you soooooo much for all your nice comments it's truly so <3 you're all angels (you too hummy)
> 
> SPECIAL FRENCH DEDI @ len for beta reading thank u homie

“Have you talked to Master Tim, sir?”

Bruce glared at Alfred in the bathroom’s mirror. His butler was standing right behind him, glaring back with as much intensity. They all knew Alfred was very polite and respected butler etiquette, but there was no way he was giving anyone in this house a break. They all loved him for it. Except Bruce, sometimes, that had had to live much longer with the man, and that considered him more like a father than a butler. Alfred knew him better than anyone else, and he also knew how to force him to do everything he despised. For example, talking about things.

“I will,” Bruce said, dropping his comb on the side of the sink. “Eventually.”

“He’s free now,” Alfred pointed out.

Bruce didn’t answer, unsurprisingly. “I’m not. I’m busy,” he finally said, considering Alfred didn’t move.

“Busy doing what exactly, Master Bruce? Something I can help you with, maybe?”

Bruce groaned and turned around to face Alfred. “Yes. You can go talk to Tim for me.” He gently pushed his butler out of the room and closed the door behind him. He would probably get burned pancakes for that tomorrow morning, but he could live with a bad breakfast if it meant not stressing himself out even more right before he went out. He was getting ready for Oliver’s party, and if he went there in a bad mood, he would drink more than necessary and it would be bad for everyone. He was already feeling especially down this evening, and he definitely did not need to feel worse.

He was putting water on his face as one of the other doors to the bathroom opened. He shared the big bathroom with Dick, both their bedrooms linked to it. A long time ago, when Dick had first got here, he had been so spooked out by the big, empty manor, that they had decided to take rooms right next to each other. It seemed ridiculous now, that they would still keep such close proximity now that Dick was older, but if it had been for his son at the time, it was now about Bruce, that had needed it more than once. He liked knowing that he just had to open a door and cross a room to get to one of the two persons that always had the right thing to say to him, whether it was a shouted reproach or a whispered reassurance. That, and Dick had learned very early on that sometimes having a door leading directly into Bruce’s bathroom could be lifesaving. He wasn’t scared of that anymore, but they both clung to it a little too much for Dick to find another place to sleep in with a private bathroom in the huge mansion.

Sometimes, though, it was a pain, because very much like Alfred, Dick liked to tell Bruce to do stuff he didn’t want to do.

“Get your own bathroom,” Bruce muttered at his son before he could speak.

Dick sat on the edge of the bathtub, his leg jumping up and down. “Can Jason come over tonight?”

“Who’s Jason?”

“Jason. _Jason_ Jason.”

“Jason Jason?” Bruce repeated.

“Jason Jason.”

Bruce turned around to stare at Dick. It took several seconds of Dick staring back until he got the hint. “Todd. The guy in your class that was late on the first day. Then the guy I was eating with when you fought Mr. Kent. Then the guy that was with Tim when- TIM! You need to talk to Tim.”

Bruce groaned and moved to his bedroom. “Who’s Tim,” he said as he opened the door.

“Tim Tim.”

“Stop doing that,” Bruce said. He stopped to turn and look at his son. “Is he going to be okay?”

“Who?”

“Tim,” Bruce answered, exasperated. He paused and squinted. “Did you take your Adderall?”

“Adderall? I don’t know her,” Dick said.

Bruce sighed and walked into his room, leaving the door open behind him. He wondered why Jason’s name sounded so familiar, and couldn’t quite put his finger on it. He had already heard the name _Jason Todd,_ and it hadn’t been from his son. He remembered vaguely hearing Tim and Dick enthusiastically talking about the boy, but it hadn’t had mattered enough for Jason’s name to push a button in Bruce’s brain.

“That Jason…” he said to Dick, who was leaning against the doorframe. “What is he here for?”

“Midterms are coming up. I’m helping him with class,” his son answered, clearing his throat.

Bruce squinted at him a second time, putting his shoes on. “Class, uh?”

“He works a lot,” Dick added. “Like, outside of college. He has two jobs, and he still manages to have straight As. He’s going to be someone important someday. I can feel it. He’s amazing, I don’t even know how he even has the energy to do all that and still be up and ready every day. I mean, he still accepted that I’d give him notes he couldn’t get in crim class, which I don’t really understand because apparently he said no to _Tim_ about this, but I’m glad he’s accepting help. He’s really cool. And impressive. And…” Dick trailed off when he noticed the ghost of a smile on Bruce’s lips. “What?” He felt himself blush and cleared his throat again. “Anyway. Can he stay over?”

“He’s _staying over_ now?” Bruce answered, his smile growing bigger. “I thought he was just coming to study.”

“The manor is far away from Gotham.” Dick said.

Bruce put his coat on, not bothering to remind his son he had said he’d come to the party with him. If Dick had better things to do in better company, he wasn’t going to stop him. He was actually rather happy that Dick seemed to like someone, especially if said someone was as respectable as Dick made him sound. He made a mental note to research who that Jason was anyway. He would make sure Dick was safe before he got himself tangled in something he would regret. He was pretty confident that Dick would never make his move first, because his son had issues with commitment and starting stuff and feeling confident enough to go through it, but he still wanted to have his back. If there was one thing he could do, it was that.

The door to his bedroom burst open as he was about to say just that to Dick, and he turned to see Tim standing there. Bruce shifted on his feet, thinking that it was probably problematic on some level to be uncomfortable looking at his son. He guessed he really would have to have that discussion with him at some point.

“Dad, can Jason come over?”

Bruce looked at Dick, then back at Tim. “What is he here for?”

“College stuff,” Tim answered, much more convincingly than Dick had. Bruce was about to answer when Tim started talking again. “Did you know that Jason has _two_ jobs,” he said enthusiastically, “and he still manages to get-”

“Straight As,” Bruce finished. He didn’t smile at Tim the way he had smiled at Dick before, because he was starting to understand that the evening would be much less fun if knowing Jason meant having a crush on Jason. Unfortunately, he doubted Tim would win this battle. Not that Tim wasn’t lovable enough, but Tim was young, and Dick was Dick. Nevertheless, he wasn’t going to tell them any of that. They would sort it out on their own. He wasn’t going to forbid their friend to come over either. “Sure. Jason can come,” Bruce finally said, putting his coat on. “He can also stay over,” he started, and trailed off. He didn’t really know what to tell them, feeling every time he put a line his kids shouldn’t cross that it was only hypocritical of him and they would call him out on it. Especially Dick, who had seen him blow past any possible line years before, and that had learned to be the responsible one all by himself. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” Bruce just lamely ended, just so he could leave thinking he had said something that resembled something a good father would say.

“No alcohol, no smoking, no noise and no swearing in front of Damian,” Dick said, as if he was repeating rules Bruce had set.

Bruce looked back at him, nodding slightly. “Cool with me.” He walked to the door, turning back at the last moment. “Make sure it’s alright with Alfred,” Bruce added. “Tim, walk with me,” he told his second son. He was about to talk to him, to make sure he would be alright, to ask about class, anything that would make things seem more… _normal_ . He had to do at least that before leaving them for the night, considering he had no way to be sure he would come back in the evening or the morning after that. Or during the week-end at all, actually. He had a feeling it would depend on the party. “Tim,” Bruce said as he walked to the door, walking slowly in the long hallways of the manor. “Tim,” he repeated, trying to form the words he wanted to say, feeling them leave his stomach and rise to his throat and choke him before they could reach his mouth. It was always the same thing. Everything that truly mattered was always left unsaid, left in the hands of people that knew when to say _I know_ or _I forgive you_ without him having to actually talk. It was too much. It was always too much. He had left so much hidden in the depth of his hearts that whenever he opened a door, everything spilled incoherently, ruining everything and making a mess. He had understood that a long time ago, and instead of trying to control the flow of everything that needed to get out, he had put more locks on the doors, and lost the key. “Tim,” he repeated a third time as they reached the bottom of the stairs, next to the manor’s main door.

Tim looked back at him, expectant as he was, always with his ridiculous spark of hope in his eyes that he had never quite managed to tame after all these years. Of course, Tim would, eventually, like everyone else, say _I know_ the way Bruce needed to hear it. Only it took more time, and he wasn’t sure Tim would always say it. One day, his son would probably give up on him, and he would have deserved it for choosing being safe instead of being honest and opening up, and he wouldn’t be able to blame him for it. For now, Tim was just looking at him, waiting, trying to read his father’s eyes and guess if it was the time he would finally crouch down and say something that sounded as simple as _I love you_ or _I’m sorry_ or maybe, maybe, what he told Damian all the time. _I’m proud of you, baby boy_.

“Have a good evening,” Bruce just said awkwardly, biting back everything he wanted to tell Tim right before it got out of his mouth. He knew Tim _knew_ and he knew it wouldn’t be enough, that Tim wouldn’t settle for that, that it wouldn’t be right if he settled for it, but Bruce didn’t see any other way to be, and so he opened the door and closed it behind him, leaving Tim standing there, probably disappointed, probably mad at him.      

Bruce walked to his car, taking his phone out. He wrote out everything he would have liked to tell Tim in a text message. _You’re one of the smartest kid I’ve ever met, and you will do unbelievably great things when given the opportunity, and I want you never to give up all the good in you because you have the ability to change the world and I am so glad I can tell people you’re my son even though I don’t deserve to get the credit for anything you will accomplish and your resilience is admirable and you are everything I would have liked to be as a kid and I love you, I love you, I love you so much for everything that you are and everything that you will be_ . He deleted it all before he actually sent it, not being able to deal with the consequences of what such a declaration would ensue. He had made the math in his head a thousand times. If he sent that, Tim would read it, he would probably cry, he would probably be really happy, but it would mean that the next time he would see Bruce, he would _know_ . He would get that thing in his eyes people got when they managed to get something out of Bruce, the one thing Bruce hated the most. Tim would have managed to _crack_ Bruce open, and he would be start expecting stuff, and he would think he got a free pass to ask him about stuff Bruce didn’t want to talk about, and it would just be a mess. Bruce had found out a while ago that you didn’t come back from being positively honest with someone, and he was so, so sure that he would disappoint everyone in due time that he couldn’t actually handle giving them hope in the first place. He also felt that if he ever put those words out there, he would stop feeling that way, he would only be pissed at everyone for making him break, he would be mad at Tim for needing him to hear those words, and then he would regret them. There was a calculated mix of fear and selfishness in the way Bruce picked what he let people see, knowing everything that was warm and light inside of him was only praise he had for other people. Telling them felt like giving up on that light, and then he would have nothing left. _I’m no good, Tim. I’m no good_ , he wanted to send him. _I won’t ever get those words out of my mouth, because I don’t deserve to see you smile as I say them, and I don’t want to disappoint you any more than I already am_.

As usual, he didn’t actually send anything, and he sat there, behind the wheel of his car, having forgotten the minutes it took him to actually walk all the way there. His phone beeped and he stared at the screen. It was text message from Tim, with _I know. Have a good night_ written, as well as a little cat emoji. Bruce stared at it some more, and typed back an answer. _I know it’s you, Richard._ The answer didn’t come right away, but eventually it did. _Still. He knows. Have a good night,_ and a second little cat emoji. Bruce dropped the phone and started his car, really not feeling like staying around the manor for another second.

***

Bruce was sitting across from Diana, talking about college stuff as Dinah and Hal nagged them to stop discussing work all the time when Oliver tapped his shoulder. He was holding his phone in his hand and a glass in the other.

“Bruce, I need your help,” the man told him.

Dinah pushed him to get up. “Yes. Go. Please. Hal and I are trying to have a good evening,” she said as Bruce walked away from the little group.

The evening had barely started, and it was just the five of them, early as usual. The rest of the team would arrive soon, and Bruce wanted to tell Dinah he would very much stop talking about work as soon as enough people were around.

“What’s up?” he asked Oliver, glaring at the phone.

“Clark is lost, and you’re the Gotham pro,” Oliver told him as he put the phone in his hand. “Can you help him out?”

He didn’t wait for an answer and disappeared, going back to his wife. Bruce sighed and put the phone to his ear, taking a sip. “Clark?”

“Bruce? Hi!”

Clark’s voice was muffled by the sound of cars and people, which reassured Bruce for a second. He liked knowing that Clark was in a crowded street. It was always safer there. He had more chance of getting robbed in the crowd, but less chance to end up stabbed, so it was always a plus.

“Where are you?”

“I don’t really know,” Clark said, sounding confused. “I left Gotham University and made a right like Dinah told me. But now I’m in front of the…” There was a silence and a chuckle. “The Wayne botanical garden, actually. It’s really pretty. Congratulations.”

“Thanks,” Bruce answered dryly. Sometimes he forgot he actually had that kind of property in Gotham, mainly because his foundation did things for the city and then put his name on it and vaguely made him sign papers in the process, also because botanical gardens weren’t his priority. “What’s next to you?”

“Monolith Square. Dinah told me I had to cross a bridge at some point. I’m not entirely sure it’s the right one, but I see a bridge at the end of the street. Is it the right one?”

Bruce closed his eyes, trying to picture the city, a familiar image in his head. He had roamed in those streets for so long, he could probably draw a rather accurate map with his eyes closed. _Monolith Square. Wayne botanical garden. A bridge, but which bridge?_ “Sprang River. Not the right bridge. Don’t cross that bridge.”

“Yes sir,” Clark answered.

The bridge would take him to Old Gotham, and that would take him to places where no one wanted to be at in the middle of the night. Bruce had been, a long time ago, he had entered those streets with two adults and had walked out alone. The memory still chilled his bones. Wrong bridge.

“You need to backtrack, you started walking the wrong way. Go back to Gotham U and call me back when you’re there.”

“I don’t have your number,” Clark pointed out.

Bruce cleared his throat and gave it to him before rapidly hanging up the phone. He grabbed his coat again, waving at Oliver to get his attention. “I’m going to get him, he’s too far away to walk at this hour.”

They all turned, frowning.

“Where is he?” Hal asked.

“Monolith Square.”

“I… don’t know where that is,” Hal answered, as if wondering why he had even asked. “I’m sure he’ll be fine, though. He’s a big boy. He can defend himself.”

Bruce looked at him and didn’t answer. It didn’t matter if anyone could defend themselves. When faced with four people or guns, there was only so much someone could do. Bruce didn’t see any point in taking risks when he could just take his car and get Clark himself. He wondered why no one had even offered to go get the man in the first place. Gotham was a strange, complicated city. Not many people could live here and be comfortable, especially not grown-ups that knew any other way to live. Oliver had had to leave Starling City to work here, and he was complaining about it every day. Barry and Iris had moved to the suburbs, away from the center of town, just because they hated the atmosphere. Diana was only here 3 days of the week for class, and she had a house somewhere else. Usually, people ran away from Gotham as fast as they could. Not him, though. Never him.

He found his way to his car and moved it out of the building’s parking lot, waiting for Clark’s call. It came rather fast.

“I’m at Gotham U again. Where do I go now?”

“Nowhere,” Bruce answered. He stopped at a red light, tapping his fingers against the wheel. “I’m coming to get you.”

“What? No, don’t bother,” Clark said rapidly. “I’ll find my way.”

“Don’t move,” Bruce repeated. “If you get lost again, who knows where you’ll end up. I have a car. I’ll be here in ten minutes. It’s not safe out there.”

Clark didn’t answer right away, but ended up caving. “Alright,” he just answered. He sounded suspiciously happy about it.

***

About fifteen minutes later, Clark was sitting in Bruce’s expensive car, his jeans sliding on the leather seats. He had not planned for the evening to start out this way, but he couldn’t say he was upset about it. Oliver had told him Bruce would help him find his way, but there was no way in hell Clark could have guessed the professor would come and get him without him even asking. It was nice of him, Clark thought. He could have walked or taken the metro, it would have made more sense, but there was something pleasant to find in the fact Bruce had told him it was too dangerous out there, as if Clark needed protection. He knew Gotham was a violent city, and that Bruce had been a direct witness of that, but still. He guessed you never really admitted a city was truly dangerous until you’d been in actual danger.

They were both silent, almost as silent as the car as it rode in the early night, swift and fancy-looking among the other vehicles.

“So,” Clark said, just because he hated silence, and because he had seen Bruce open his mouth and close it again at least five times, which meant he was actually trying to come up with something to say. Clark would end his suffering. “What exactly do you tell a colleague you spent months ridiculing in public to start a real conversation, right?”

Bruce almost smiled. “Good job, I guess.”

Clark raised an eyebrow. “Wow. Congratulations. It’s a first.”

“That’s only because I’m about to let you walk alone in the dark,” Bruce answered, stopping the car at yet another red light.

Clark chuckled. “What’s the deal with that, anyway? Isn’t that neighborhood safe?”

Bruce gave a half shrug, carefully avoiding to look at Clark, his eyes fixed on the road. “No neighborhood is entirely safe at night. It’s not the worst, but it’s not the best either.”

“You know I live in a big city too, right?”

“Metropolis is a ray of sunshine compared to Gotham.”

“Still,” Clark said.

The car started again, and Bruce started talking. It was surprising. Clark had thought it would be a very awkward car ride, and that he would make half the conversation alone, because Bruce wasn’t really one to talk. But he had opened his mouth, and he didn’t seem to stop. Clark didn’t mind. “This is the Finger River under us. That’s the bridge you were supposed to find. That’s the City Hall on your left.” Clark turned to look at the beautiful, old building. “It’s one of the oldest building in the city. The district looks nice, but it’s not really that good. The really beautiful stuff is either in Old Gotham when you can get there in broad daylight and aware of your surroundings, _or_ a bit further down the main street, next to the business district. Robinson Park— you can’t see it from here, it’s too dark, but it’s a really beautiful place to be, and it cuts the city in two,” Bruce continued, letting go of the wheel with one hand to make the gesture of something cut in two, as if the man could draw the city with his fingers. “At the end of the park,” he moved his hand, to situate the end of the park he had made out of thin air for Clark, “There’s the Wayne Tower, home of the Wayne foundation and Enterprises. And that area of town is… nice, I guess. It’s because they all have money here,” he said with a small grimace, as if he wasn’t the richest man in town, as if that’s not what he wanted for Gotham, for the beauty to come with the wealth. As if he knew it wasn’t true. “So if you want to see the “pretty” part of Gotham, the one that’s safer than anywhere else, you need to go there. Go to Robinson Park from Gotham U, and just walk south until you reach the end of it. It’s what they call Gotham Center anyway.” He cleared his throat, barely looking at where he was going. Clark couldn’t have known, because he only had eyes for him, and his deep voice, that managed to be shaky and steady at the same time, the confidence that came when Bruce talked about his city fighting the insecurity that came with talking about anything at all. It was a beautiful mix, rendered even more wonderful by the way the streetlights and road signs shone on Bruce’s face, carving his marbled traits in red and yellow and green.

“Take me there,” Clark said, a hushed whisper, as if giving Bruce the opportunity to pretend he hadn’t heard.

He thought he would take it, considering Bruce didn’t answer. They drove past Oliver’s building and kept going, Bruce showing no signs of stopping. They stayed silent, Clark making an effort to look out the window and not at Bruce’s face, who would probably find it annoying at some point. Bruce reached an intersection and stopped the car, his eyes drilling holes in the road. Clark would have paid a lot of money to know what was going on in his head.

“That’s Gotham’s Courthouse,” Bruce said between clenched teeth.

Clark looked at the building. The neighborhood was indeed nicer, it looked cleaner, more proper. It looked more like Metropolis, too, which might have been the reason why Bruce didn’t really like it. It looked like Gotham and its soul had been bleached repeatedly and carved into something that it was not, just so people could live here in peace. It was _too_ pretty. It hit Clark that Bruce looked very much like his city. That it wasn’t just love for the streets that Bruce had, it was a connection that ran deeper than that. That the annoyance Bruce felt at seeing everyone call the version of Gotham that was only pretty for the cameras the _good_ part of town was something he could relate too. That the foundations of town, that had been here for ages and that everyone had let down, had allowed to drown in crime and dust and disgust, echoed Bruce’s own darkness, the thing he had allowed to pile up for everyone to despise and turn their back on, that this was what made Gotham _Gotham_ , and it was also what made Bruce _Bruce_.

“I don’t like it,” Clark stated, looking at the skyscrapers. “It doesn’t feel like Gotham.”

“I know,” Bruce answered. He drove the car to the nearest available parking spot, and stopped it again, for good this time. “I know,” he repeated uselessly.

Clark looked at him, wondering where this was going. It was obvious to everyone that they had gotten suspiciously closer as the semester had went on, clearly finding an interest in each other that went beyond elaborate pranks, but this was different. This was the kind of signal Bruce had given him a few other times, when they’d been working silently in the university’s library, pretending they weren’t arch-nemesis in a war, and Bruce had done that thing where he sucked up all the air in a room and only left tension. Clark had been alone with Bruce three times in the entire semester, and he had done that every time. Left Clark gasping for something he couldn’t even ask. Clark wasn’t even sure Bruce was doing it on purpose, considering he could see the tension came from restraint and fear and anticipation. It didn’t look pleasant for him. Clark had an idea on how to make it feel better, but he wasn’t sure he was allowed. He had come to know Bruce, even if Bruce had tried really hard to act like nothing was actually happening. And he had come to understand there weren’t a lot of good things Bruce allowed himself, and Clark was high up on that list. Everyone _knew_ something was going on between the two of them, except Bruce, that didn’t really care to acknowledge it.

“We should go back,” Bruce said, his voice hoarse.

“Talk to me,” Clark said, turning in his seat so he could look at Bruce’s profile better.

“No,” Bruce answered, a force of habit. “No.”

 _We don’t have to talk, then_ , Clark wanted to say, and didn’t. “I’m not imagining that, am I?” he asked, almost panicked that Bruce was just uncomfortable.

“No,” Bruce repeated, biting his lower lip as if he wanted to say more and couldn’t. “No.”

“Would you like it better if it wasn’t there?”

Bruce seemed to hesitate, still not looking at Clark. Clark’s heart was beating fast in his chest. He wasn’t surprised that he had gotten something of a crush on Bruce, but he was surprised at the intensity of it. It wasn’t always like that. Most of the time, it was just something he picked at when he was looking at the man from afar, wondering if he was making it up or if he was actually interested. Right at this second, now that reciprocity and a hint of hope had made its way into his brain, like a curl of smoke, smothering everything else, it was much harder to keep himself in check. He knew Bruce wasn’t going to break his heart if nothing happened, he knew that, deep down, because he wasn’t _that_ invested yet, but the electricity in the air made him believe something else. It was hard to breathe around Bruce, it had always been, and if Bruce insisted on staying silent a second more, Clark would probably die.

“No,” Bruce finally whispered, and something in his eyes flickered, like he regretted it immediately.

Clark felt his heart miss a beat, something in his stomach tightening. “Do you want me to pretend it never happened?” Bruce didn’t answer, and Clark reformulated. “Do you know what you want?”

“No,” Bruce said between his teeth.

It surprised Clark, that the man would be so indecisive. Bruce had strike him as someone that always knew what he want. As someone that would take and take and take if he could. Clearly, he had been wrong. Now that he had dug a little, he realized it was just a very convincing facade, probably one that came with the entire playboy persona that had been a ridiculous assumption in the first place. The reality of it was that Bruce always seemed to fight between what he thought he wanted and what he was ready to take. Clark wasn’t sure he could help him with that. He reached for Bruce’s hand on the stick, and grazed it with his fingers. Bruce didn’t react, a stone cold statue.

“Does that bother you?”

“No,” Bruce answered, almost immediately this time.

Clark grabbed the man’s hand and brought it to his lips, dropping a light kiss on his knuckles. “Does _that_ bother you?”

“No,” Bruce repeated, a word Clark was coming to understand was not necessarily a bad thing. If it was the only thing Bruce felt he could say, then he would just have to switch his questions around. He moved in his seat, getting closer to him, and felt very foolish as he reached forward to drop a peck on the corner of Bruce’s lips. He could feel the man’s pulse accelerating where he held his hand, and decided this was a good thing.

“And that?”

Bruce finally, finally turned his head around to look at Clark in the eyes. He opened his mouth but no word came out, and he just shook his head. A silent _no_. Clark gave him a wicked smile, and curled his fingers behind Bruce’s neck, getting him closer so that their lips would touch. It was an uncomfortable position to be in, but it would do. It was not a passionate kiss, either, but it was okay with Clark. Bruce moved just enough, surprisingly tender in the way he reciprocated the attention, sucking on Clark’s bottom lip as Clark’s tongue grazed his.

They were abruptly cut off by the sound of Bruce’s phone. Clark closed his eyes and let Bruce pull away, grabbing his phone like an anchor. It seemed to take a minute to get his voice back.

“Oliver?”

Clark was still close enough to hear Ollie’s voice in the phone, refusing to seat back properly. “Are you lost or something?” the man asked, confused. “You’ve been gone for like, half an hour.”

Bruce rubbed his eyes. “I was showing Clark the courthouse.”

“The courthouse? The fuck?” Clark bit his lip, holding back a laugh. “Why would you show him the courthouse at this hour?”

“Long story.”

“Is it?”

“It is,” Bruce said.

“Well,” Oliver just answered. “Come back, everyone’s here. We’re waiting for you.”

“We’re on our way,” Bruce said, and he hung up. He didn’t wait for Clark to say anything and started the car, going back to looking at the road, driving a little faster than necessary.

Clark eventually sat back, not sure what would happen next, not sure he wanted to know. They reached Oliver’s building again, and Bruce stopped the car inside the parking lot, sighing.

“Was this a mistake?” Clark asked, begging internally for Bruce to repeat the same words he had used all evening.

Bruce looked at him, a pained glare, his lips twitching. “Yes,” he said, and he left the car.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please don't hate me  
> xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you know what was a mistake? this goddamn chapter was a mistake. as u can see: i have removed the number of chapters because as it turned out i have NO IDEA WHAT I'M DOING no i do know what i'm doing i just don't know how long it'll take me so. sorry about that. ALSO this chapter was super hard to write because my life is shit recently and writing is hard so i'm sorry about 1) the quality 2) THE TIME IT TOOK but now i'm on a roll again and things are actually starting to shape up nicely so, here. it can only be better from there. i think much like bruce i spooked myself out with that last chapter. nobody cares but you're reading this anyway so now you know that next chap (not this one the one after) is going to be THE BOMB this one is just a necessary transition. sorry
> 
> special thanks to len for the beta reading as always and hummy for being hummy AND ALSO because i'm a shit that loves lurking and indirects thank you to all the people that have said very nice things about my fic on twitter. i wasn't comfortable enough to actually @ you about it also i didn't want to sound like a stalker but i see y'all and it warms my heart and it PUSHED ME THROUGH THIS HELL OF A CHAPTER 6. SATAN'S NUMBER   
> (also the very very very nice comments on the last chapter were honestly so pure my heart is very soft *holds ur hands*)
> 
> it appears that i can't write a chapter but i can definitely talk too much in the chapter notes so enough of me and Let's Party

Alfred answered the phone on the eight ring. He knew it was Bruce, because no one would have really waited that long. He would have gotten it sooner, but he had been busy threatening Damian that he was going to come get him outside himself if he didn’t walk back to the house with his dog immediately, and that was more important than any phone call. He was sure Bruce would understand.

“Alfred?” he heard as he put the phone against his hear. “Is that you?”

“It’s me, Master Bruce.”

“Good.” Bruce answered. His voice was muffled either by the phone or by the fact Bruce was hiding somewhere. Alfred would know soon enough, he thought. If he was at a party, it was more likely that he was hiding somewhere and had done something he hadn’t planned or wanted to do. There was no other reason he would call. “I’m calling to check up on the kids.”

“I still have to clean the kitchen and make sure Damian gets to bed in time, and I think Tim and Dick’s friend just got here,” Alfred answered. “For once, may we cut directly to what you really wanted to tell me?”

There was a silence on the line. “I really did want to check up on the kids,” Bruce said with a very small voice.

“I don’t doubt it,” Alfred said. He grabbed the phone and moved it to the kitchen, knowing he would have to wait for Bruce to get himself together so he could talk to him. He had become a professional at taking care of the house while never leaving the phone, a silent and reassuring presence for Bruce, who would only hear his breathing and know he hadn’t given up on him, not matter how long it took him to open his mouth.

Eventually, Bruce did.                   

“Clark kissed me.”

Alfred put down the pile of plates he was holding and sighed. “Is that going to be a problem?”

“I don’t know,” Bruce answered. He was calling Alfred because he was the only person Bruce could really  _ really  _ talk to, with whom it was easy and he wouldn’t have to weight every word and their consequences. Alfred had raised him. Alfred  _ knew _ . Bruce felt like a small child again when he talked to Alfred that way, telling him his secrets and waiting for advice.

“Did anything else happen?”

“No.”

Alfred had a small smile on his face that he was glad Bruce couldn’t see. “Then I’m not sure there is reason to panic, Master B.” It must have been the hundredth time he had to tell Bruce something like this. Bruce had grown up but had somehow missed the part where people stopped taking basic gestures of interest for something much more meaningful. As if he was emotionally still 15, he still processed anything close to romance like the person that had shown interest had just asked his hand in marriage. That, plus Bruce’s tendency to run from the intimacy he longed for must have made that kiss much heavier than it should have been.  _ Every time,  _ Alfred wanted to say.  _ Every bloody time. _

“You’re going to tell me I need to stop being paranoid and make everything more meaningful than it actually is.” It wasn’t a question, and Alfred didn’t answer, letting Bruce speak. “I think I freaked him out anyway.”

“Was that what you wanted?”

“Yes. No. I don’t know. Maybe. No,” Bruce said, really fast, as if the words would blend together and then he wouldn’t have to choose.

Alfred felt a pang of worry for Bruce. It was always there, heavy in his heart, dreadful, raw  _ worry _ for the man he considered his son. He couldn’t help it, had tried not to feel so panicked about Bruce all the time, but he’d seen too much to just let it go. Alfred used to wish the world could shift a little, could warp around Bruce’s head, so everything that was so damn blurry for him could be clear, even for an instant. To hell with everyone else. Alfred just wanted everything to be made a little easier for him. He now had to take care of an entire family, and he refused to spend his worrying hours rearranging the world so that Bruce could live in it. He had smaller kids, other sons he needed to take care of, and Bruce was older and smarter and better, too. Sometimes, it didn’t really change anything, and it still felt like Bruce was 19, breathing heavily against his bedroom door, wondering what it meant that Selina Kyle had said he was cool, his heart somersaulting in his chest, forever unable to process things healthily.  

There was something about Clark Kent, Alfred thought, that made Bruce react that way. Bruce had no usual problem getting drunk at parties and breaking hearts as he moved from person to person without feeling anything at all. If kissing Clark Kent got him freaked out, it was probably that it had been a bit  _ too  _ special for Bruce to pass on an opportunity of getting emotional about it.

“You know,” Alfred started, “The middle ground thing I keep telling you about.” Bruce groaned in the phone. Alfred ignored it. “Try to find that middle ground, Master Bruce. Clark probably isn’t overthinking this, and you shouldn’t either. And avoid him. You’re still too keen on looking for ulterior motives whenever anyone talks to you to deal with this. Find Mr. Queen, stay by his side, and everything should be fine.”

“But he  _ did  _ have ulterior motives,” Bruce protested. “I swear. You should have seen his face. I need to know what he was thinking. What if—”

Alfred cut him mid-sentence, too busy to hear about Bruce’s theories on what Clark Kent really was thinking when he blinked three times in one minute and emphasized the letter  _ o  _ in the fifth word of his second sentence. “His ulterior motives, if existent, probably had to do with something much more…  _ physical _ than anything else,” Alfred said, picking his words delicately. This was not his favorite part of the conversation. “You know that, Master B.”

“I know that,” Bruce repeated. “I know that.”

“Good.”

“I can’t let him get too close,” Bruce said in a whisper. “You know that.”

“I know that,” Alfred sighed. “But you can’t be sure he wants to. As your oldest son would say,” Alfred cleared his throat, “ _ Chill _ , Master B.”

“Right,” Bruce said. He sighed back. “Stop overthinking. Thank you, Alfred. Tell the kids I hope they have fun.”

“I will definitely tell Tim you’re thinking of him,” Alfred answered, and Bruce hung up the phone immediately, not bothering to answer  _ that _ .

“Who’s thinking of me?” Tim said happily as he walked in on Alfred, who turned around with the same small smile he had given Bruce through the phone.

“Your father.”

“Oh,” Tim answered, his smile dying down. “He’s at a fun party. Don’t force him to do that.”

Alfred was cut off from answering to Tim’s self-deprecating thoughts by Dick, who waltzed in the kitchen, following his brother’s footsteps.

“Do we have coke anywhere or has Tim drunk it all?”

Alfred was cut off a  _ second time _ , by Damian yelling  _ ATTACK  _ in the living room. Alfred put his face in his hand as Tim and Dick ran back.

Dick slid in the living room first, about to throw himself on Titus, that Damian had let loose on Jason, but Jason seemed to be doing just fine. Damian was the one that looked upset.

“Titus, go!”

“Sit down, Titus,” Jason said, glaring at the dog. They stared at each other for a little while and the dog finally sat down.

Dick and Tim stayed silent, looking at the scene, amazed. Damian crossed his arms on his chest, barely taller than the dog. “How did you do that?” He asked Jason, curious and pretending he wasn’t at the same time.

“What can I say,” Jason answered with a shrug. “Dogs love me.”

“Titus doesn’t like anyone.”

Titus suddenly got back up, jumping to put his paws on Jason’s leg, his tongue out of his mouth, panting.

“He likes me.”

“Impossible,” Damian repeated. He tried to grab the dog by his collar, but the Great Dane was way too heavy for him. “Titus! Stop! Stop loving Jason!”

As an answer, Jason started petting Titus, who seemed to enjoy it very much. Dick decided to say something, ending Damian’s repetitive tries at getting the dog back on his side.

“You lose this time, Dami. Now go to bed. It’s late already.”

Damian turned around, pouting. “I want to wait for dad.”

“Dad’s going to get home late,” Dick answered, walking to his little brother, knowing if there was one person the kid would listen to, it would be him. “You’ll see him tomorrow.”

“I can stay up.”

“I’m not sure he’s getting home tonight, buddy,” Tim said.

“Shut up, idiot. Don’t jinx it,” Damian answered with a frown. “He left without saying goodbye. I’m staying up until he comes home.”

Jason looked at Dick and Tim over Damian and pointed to the kitchen.  _ I’ll go looking for coke _ , he mouthed, getting up silently, knowing when to step away from family troubles he had no place in. It sounded like it was an essential part of the Wayne gang anyway. He opened the door to the kitchen and met Alfred’s eyes, who was glaring at the living room behind his back.

“Uh, sorry,” Jason just said. “Just looking for some soda.”

“In the fridge,” Alfred answered without looking at him. He was still looking at the kids from the kitchen, waiting to see if he would have to say something or if Dick was handling it. Without moving his head, he spoke again. “Are you the Jason Todd that received the Wayne scholarship this year?”

Jason almost dropped the bottle of coke in his hand but caught it before it fell. He closed the fridge’s door, damning his past self for thinking spending an evening at the Waynes would be fine and exempt of problems.

“Yes,” he answered, his voice cautious and suspicious. “Why? Is my charity case going to be a problem?” he continued, angrier than he thought he would be. He knew he could never quite hide that fire in him, how furious he got when anyone so much as insinuated his social status would at any point be an obstacle in someone else’s way. He only allowed his problems to impact  _ his  _ path. No one else had any right to claim that, or blame him for it. That was an absolute rule, and one of the only rules he had set himself and always followed, with no exception.

Alfred turned to him at that, and cocked his head, seeming somewhere between surprised and knowing, a weird contradiction that looked natural on the old man’s face. “Oh, certainly not, Mr. Todd. For the good and simple reason that Mr. Wayne doesn’t do charity cases.”

Jason frowned at that. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Simply that this scholarship is well earned, and I’m honored to meet the talented, extremely hard working young man that deserved it,” Alfred said, moving to put glasses on a tray. “I wish Wayne scholarship winners could see Mr. Wayne go through all those applications personally, reading them and taking notes and comparing files for days and nights,” he added, looking at the tray he was now holding pensively. “He really puts his heart into it.”

Something inside Jason  _ shifted _ , and he almost dropped the coke again, for very different reasons this time. He knew the letter had said  _ handpicked _ , and he had dwelled on the idea of someone as impressive as Bruce Wayne picking him _ – him! –  _ out of thousands of candidates, but he didn’t need the actual, validated, official mental image. It made him feel weird, like he was being under pressure, but also hugged at the same time. Like some kind of metaphorical fatherly hand-on-shoulder thing, the one thing he wished he had had. He shook his head to shake the feeling off, not wanting to look foolish in front of people that were with Bruce on a daily basis.

“Does he…” Jason started, clearing his throat. “Does he know?”

“That the Jason hanging out with his sons is  _ the  _ Jason?” Jason nodded, and Alfred gave him a small smile. “I’m not sure. He will, though,” he added, because he wanted to be honest. “He always figures things out pretty quickly. You shouldn’t worry, though, Mr. Todd. I’m sure he’ll be delighted.”

Jason nodded, not sure what else he could do to make the situation feel less uncomfortable. He walked out of the kitchen, thinking a good first step would be to not stay with the butler. When he put the bottle on the table, Damian was still arguing with Dick.

“What if we call him? Then he can tell you good night, and tell you when he comes home.”

“You know it’s not the same.”

Dick rubbed his eyelids. “Listen, Damian, you don’t have a choice. That’s enough now. Either I call him now, and you can talk to him, and then you go to your room, or you just go straight to your room. And no Titus.”

They engaged in a staring contest that lasted a full minute, and as Dick got up from his crouching position on the floor, pretending he was leaving, Damian grabbed his wrist. “Alright. But a video call.”

Dick smiled at him and pulled his phone out. Tim left and came back with glasses, standing next to Jason awkwardly. He looked as much as a stranger to his little brother as Jason was. Dick handed the phone to Damian, who had trouble holding it correctly because the phone was really big and his hands  really small, but he managed. He couldn’t press any button as he was holding it, though, and Dick had to dial Bruce’s number for him.

It rang, Damian only seeing his face in the screen. Dick was making faces behind him, and he turned around, frowning. “Stop!”

“Dami?”

Bruce’s face appeared on the screen and Damian turned back around, walking away from Dick, who was trying to stay on camera. Damian ended up pushing him and Dick fell on his ass, chuckling. Damian was running away with the phone, his face blurry, going through the manor’s hallways as quickly as possible, as if he could outrun his brothers.

Bruce looked at the camera fondly, seeing his son’s little face move around as the phone jumped in his hands. “What’s up, Dami?”

“I’m running,” Damian answered. He stopped and put the phone down to lock the bathroom door, picking it up and sitting back down, his face against the door. “I ran so fast,” he added, taking his breath. “I lost them.”

“You lost who?” Bruce asked. He’d been walking out of Ollie’s bathroom when Damian called, and he was stuck in the hallway, not wanting to go to the loud living room, but thinking people would be worried if he locked himself alone any longer. He was standing there, his phone in front of his face like an idiot.

“Dick and Tom,” said Damian.

“Tim,” Bruce corrected.

“Timothy.”

“Just Tim.”

“Tommy.”

“ _ Damian _ .” Bruce answered, raising an eyebrow at his son. “What did you want to tell me?”

Damian sighed. “You left without saying goodbye. I wanted to tell you that.”

There was an embarrassingly long silence, during which they both stared at each other, Damian glaring angrily as Bruce stared back, not quite knowing what to say. “I’m sorry, Dami. You were outside, and I was running late. I’ll see you tomorrow, first thing.”

“Pft,” Damian just answered.

“I’m really sorry,” Bruce insisted, moving to get under the light in the hallway so that his son could read his face, and see that he wasn’t just saying that. “I am. Don’t wait for me, though. Listen to your brothers and Alfred. The quicker you get to bed, the sooner you’ll see me.”

“That’s a shit logic.”

“ _ Language _ !” Bruce said out of reflex. Sometimes he wondered who taught him those words, and then he thought of how he spoke when he was grading essays, and he guessed he shouldn’t be one to talk. “Bed. Now. Tell Dick I said Titus could sleep with you.”

Damian made a gesture of victory, which made him drop the phone on the ground. Bruce was faced with a black screen for several seconds, until Damian took it back after he opened the door. He ran back to the living room, his head bopping on the way. Bruce couldn’t help but smile a second time. He wanted to be with his son, suddenly. To come home and put a movie and sit Damian down on his knees and pretend he didn’t see him suck on his thumb and fall asleep against his chest. He breathed in, calming his heart that was constantly waiting for an opportunity to beat out of his chest. The screen got clearer again, and he watched as Damian made his way around the big table to find Dick.

“Dick. Bruce wants to talk to you.”

Bruce’s oldest son appeared on the camera. Bruce gave him a small wave. “Titus can sleep with Dami tonight.”

“You’re too soft with him,” Dick answered, but he was smiling.

“Thanks for calling,” Bruce said. “Good night, baby,” he said, louder, to Damian.

“Tell Hal I said hi,” Damian answered.

“Hal?” Bruce frowned. “Why Hal?”

Dick turned the camera to Damian. “I like Hal. Last time at school he said we could be best buddies. He’s my guy. My guy Hal.”

“Your guy, Hal,” Bruce repeated, rubbing his temple with his free hand. “You need better friends,” he mumbled. “I will tell him.”

“Invite him to dinner,” Damian added.

“Good night,” Bruce answered, and hung up. He walked to the living room quickly, before Dinah or Oliver went to look for him. They were all sitting at the table in the Queen’s living room. Dinah was the only person missing, probably in the kitchen. Bruce knew her enough to be aware of the fact she was probably just getting the already prepared food from the oven and that she wasn’t actually responsible of anything they would eat tonight. It was for the best.

Oliver smiled at him as he came back, and pointed at the full table. “You can sit next to Barry or you can sit next to Hal.”

Bruce wondered why Oliver hated him and moved to Hal without a second of hesitation. Barry put his hand on his heart. “You’re hurting my feelings.”

“I’m devastated,” Bruce deadpanned, moving his chair so he could sit next to his son’s best friend. Hal looked positively glowing. “What?”

“You picked me,” Hal said with a half shrug, trying to look casual. “I knew you loved me.”

“Lesser of two evils,” Bruce answered as Dinah came back. He was on one side of the table, with no one else next to him but the Engineering professor. Clark was sitting across from Barry, which was also why he had chosen to sit next to Hal. He couldn’t see the professor unless he really wanted it, which he didn’t. They were around 25, which was around the usual number of guests Ollie invited for these kind of dinner followed by alcohol evenings. Sometimes it was alcohol and then dinner. Sometimes the alcohol never stopped, it was just the music that started at some point. Usually, they all had fun. Bruce wasn’t drunk enough to actually relax and enjoy himself, but Ollie threw good parties. He knew how to make people feel good.

The food passed around, and Bruce took the opportunity to turn to Hal. “Why did you befriend my son?”

“Dami?” Hal asked enthusiastically as Bruce nodded. “Dami, my guy! What a kid, man. I love him. He’s so cool and smart. We’re best buds.”

“Dami, your guy.” Bruce stared at him. “He invited you to dinner.”

“How sweet,” Hal answered. “Can I come?”

“No.”

“It’s okay, I’ll invite him to my place,” Hal said, thoughtful. “We can go to the zoo. Did you know he loves animals?” Bruce didn’t break the stare. “Of course you know,” Hal added, pinching his lips. “You being his father and all.”

“What are we talking about?” Diana asked, handing Bruce the wine. She was sitting across from him and next to Dinah, who was having a heated conversation about something regarding administration. For someone who didn’t want to talk about work, it seemed she had already broken that promise.

“We’re talking about what exactly is up between Clark and him,” Hal whispered. Bruce almost choked on piece of salad but thankfully didn’t, punching him under the table.

Diana gave Bruce a smile. “I want in on that conversation.”

“No,” Bruce objected. “We were talking about Damian. We’re not talking about Clark.”

“Oh, what’s up between you and Clark?” Dinah piped in, standing behind them, holding an empty plate.

“Nothing,” Bruce said between clenched teeth. “Please.”

“Look,” Hal started. Bruce turned to him, a death glare that would have shut anyone up. Sadly, there weren’t a lot of things that would shut Hal Jordan up, and this wasn’t one of them. “The last time a new guy tried to prank you for kicks, you punched him in the face so hard he got a concussion.”

Diana bit her lip, the memory fresh in her head. Dinah chucked, remembering, too, Guy Gardner, knocked on the ground in the common room, everyone  _ ooooooh- _ ing in the background. They had called Bruce a hero for weeks. Then the university gave Guy a compensation and he still held a grudge, but it had been an iconic moment in the Gotham U history.

“Guy has nothing to do with Clark,” Bruce said dryly, trying to keep his voice down before any of them decided to talk loud enough. He glanced at Clark, who was talking with his mouth full about journalism in Metropolis to a nodding Iris. Barry looked back at Clark and Bruce turned his eyes back to Hal. “Anyway,” Bruce added. “I’m not doing anything with Clark. He works here.”

Diana gave him a knowing look. “That never stopped you before,” she said softly.

Bruce scowled. “Only with professors that were here, for, like, a semester. And drunk. Not after months of complicit pranking.” Bruce shook his head, knowing his colleagues enough to trust that they would understand. He had never been one for dating. Not because he didn’t enjoy the idea, but because he always went way too over the top. Sober one night stands had been a no-no for years, because he couldn’t stop thinking about whoever he had fucked for weeks on, which wasn’t pleasant, so dating was  _ definitely  _ out of the way. Colleagues were also a no go, except if they were only here for a short period of time.

“I mean…” Dinah started. “Clark is just—” She shut up as Clark got up. He walked behind her to the hallway, probably looking for the bathroom, and they all gave him a smile, except for Bruce, that looked at his plate. Hal punched him under the table and Bruce stepped on his foot.

“Ow,” he said, grimacing. “That was totally uncalled for.” Bruce shrugged and poured himself another glass of wine. Dinah was about to talk again, but Oliver took her away to the kitchen, to  _ talk to her about something. _ “Bruce, really,” Hal started again. “We want you to be happy. Or get laid. I think Clark would like that.”

“I know he would,” Bruce muttered.

Diana grinned. “I  _ knew  _ something had happened. Tell me. Tell me. Tell me.”

Hal and she were starting to get louder on their corner of the table, and Bruce raised his hands to shush them. The rest of the big group were still having various conversations, and he felt like he had to end this sooner than later if he didn’t want everyone to give their opinion, including Clark. Clark, the poor man, who was probably just flirting earlier.

“Nothing happened,” Bruce insisted.

Diana sighed. “Come on. You know you’re going to tell me by the end of the night anyway. You always pretend you’re not going to say anything, and then I get you drunk enough and you’re waltzing with me telling me all about having sex with Hal in the bathroom.”

Hal choked on his wine, coughing in his hands. That got half of the table’s attention. “Bruce? We had sex and you didn’t tell me?” he yelped. That got the rest of the table’s attention, and also Dinah and Oliver who were walking back to the kitchen and also Clark, who just walked out of the bathroom and was staring at Bruce and Hal’s corner of the table, eyes wide.

“You didn’t know?” Oliver asked, frowning. “You were drunker than we thought.”

“We both were,” Bruce said. “Can we change the topic?”

“I slept with Bruce Wayne and no one told me.”

“Bruce never said a word about it,” Diana said, patting Hal on the hand. “And neither did you. We thought it was just one of those things no one would bring up.”

“I can’t believe you can’t remember,” Oliver said again, starting to laugh. “Only you, Jordan. Only you.”

The silence went on at the table. Really, Clark was the only one that was shocked. Everyone knew Bruce liked his partners drunk and himself drunker, and it had never caused any troubles. It was just a thing no one brought up. Hal had his face in his hands, Dinah patting him on the shoulder. Bruce was trying to find a way to bring the conversation back to something that wasn’t  _ this _ . His phone rang at this exact second, and he blessed whoever was responsible for it, getting up to leave the table. He checked the number, and noticed it was Dick. He felt a wave of panic in his stomach, wondering why his son called again, that late, especially if he was with a friend. He locked himself in the bathroom for the second time tonight, and felt bad that it was the only two times he was really relaxed. The alcohol would kick in, he guessed, eventually. He sat against the tub and answered the call.

***

Dick’s time was counted. There was only so long he could spend hiding in the toilets to keep himself from panicking.

They had finally sat down about an hour ago, free from Damian, the dog, and Alfred, and Jason had got alcohol out of his bag and poured it in everyone’s coke. At any other time, Dick would have said no on behalf of Tim. But Tim had had a bad day, and he looked pretty happy about hanging out with them, so Dick had turned off his big brother side for the evening. Jason hadn’t even poured that much in his drink anyway. Everything had went well, especially considering that 10 minutes in Jason had also closed everyone’s books and said he really didn’t felt like studying after all. They had went on a big tour of the manor, which had been extremely entertaining, Tim and Dick making sure they had a funny story to tell Jason about every room. He had a nasty comment about rich people to say every other minute, which was fine with both of them, Dick because he agreed with most of them, Tim because he didn’t want to be that  _  offended rich kid _ . As they walked back to the living room, laughing and a bit giddy from the alcohol, Jason asking if there was any way they could show him the gardens, too, Tim had walked quicker to lead the way and Jason had stopped by Dick’s side, only for a second, only to have enough time to brush his knuckles against Dick’s as he passed by. It had lasted a few seconds, and then Jason was back next to Tim, chatting about life. Dick swore he had imagined it until Jason turned around as Tim walked in the living room, and gave him the most beautiful wink he had ever seen in his life. Dick, evidently trying to act cool, had ran off to the toilets and called his dad, desperate for some advice. He was aware of the fact he was kind of overreacting, but this wasn’t the first time, and Bruce wouldn’t judge him for it. Dick was just easily stressed out, and he really liked Jason, and the thought of actually having a crush on someone that would reciprocate it was so unbelievable that he needed to talk about it.

“Dad?” he whispered into the phone, hoping he wasn’t bothering.

“You just saved my life,” Bruce answered. “Are you guys alright?”

“Sure, sure,” Dick said. “Listen. I think Jason likes me.”

There was a small silence. “Likes you?  _ Likes  _ likes you?”

“ _ Likes  _ likes me,” Dick answered. “I don’t know why I’m calling you for advice. I think I just wanted to tell someone.”

“Did you know Tim likes him too?”

Dick frowned. “No way.”

“Yes way. Definitely.”

“Dad. Why did you tell me this? Now I can’t ever be with him.”

Bruce snorted. “Tim will survive. Besides, Jason likes you, not him.”

Dick grimaced. “What would you do in this situation?”

“You’re asking me?”

“So I can do the opposite,” Dick added, hoping his teasing smile showed in his tone. Bruce sighed. He heard banging on the door. “Wait,” he whispered into the phone.

“Dickie,” Jason was saying, his voice a little slurred. “What are you doing in there?”

“Go,” Bruce said in the phone, and hung up before his son had anything else to say. It was time Dick got over his fear of anything close to crush developing into something stronger. Bruce knew it was a bit rich coming from him, but still. He wanted better for his sons, and especially for Dick, who had been in this situation too many times for his own good. He had issues he tried to ignore and most of the time succeeded, only to have them blow in his face again. He hoped the rest of the evening would go well. Dick opened the door, looking innocent and relaxed, and stared at Jason.

“Tim left for bed. I was alone in the living room,” Jason said.

Dick felt a pang of worry for Tim, and weighted his options. “He left for bed?”

Jason nodded. He squinted, and corrected himself. “He said he could feel that we might want to be alone, and so he went to bed.” Dick winced, and Jason made a grimace. “He looked like he was fine with it, but I’m guessing he’s a good actor.”

“Good guess,” Dick answered.

“I think he likes me a bit,” Jason said pensively.

“That makes two of us,” Dick mumbled.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Dick answered with a smile. He walked out the room and sighed, looking at Jason. “Do  _ you _ like him a bit?”

There was a silence as they looked at each other, Dick wondering if the heat on his cheeks was a blush or just the alcohol. Jason was grinning, like he was sure of himself and confident things would go well, which was remarkable to Dick, who never understood how anyone could reach that state facing someone they liked. There was something in Jason’s eyes, though, a kind of hesitation that went with the careful way he held himself, as if he was ready to shrivel away if Dick rejected him, but as long as he didn’t, then he would be absolutely certain this would end his way.

“I like him a lot,” Jason started. “He’s very endearing.” Dick bit his lip, unsure of where this was going. “Kind of like the little brother I never had.”

“He’s a great little brother,” Dick just said, his voice a whisper, accidentally holding his breath.

“I like his older brother better,” Jason just answered.

Dick exhaled a bit too loudly. He tried to come up with something clever to say, something that would be as charming as the man in front of him, and he didn’t. Instead, he tried another approach. “Do you still want to go see the gardens?”

Jason gave him a small smile. “Didn’t you say it would be too cold, like, five minutes ago?”

“I lied,” Dick answered, a definite blush creeping on his cheeks this time. “I said that because I didn’t want Tim there.” He frowned. “That sounded so mean. That’s not what I meant.”

Jason chuckled and crossed his arms on his chest so he wouldn’t reach forward. Not yet. He was waiting for Dick to make the first move. “So what  _ did  _ you mean?”

Dick opened his mouth. “You can see most of the gardens from my room, because there’s a balcony, and the moonlight, and everything is pretty and silent and I thought you’d like it,” he said in one go, barely breathing. He sighed. “No place for Tim. Or for me if you’d picked his balcony.”

“He’s 16,” Jason just answered, still smirking. They looked at each other again. Jason had more troubles holding up Dick’s stare than it looked like. It was a piercing stare, and a beautiful, beautiful one. “I want to see your balcony.” He wrinkled up his nose. “That sounded suspiciously dirty.”

This broke the tension and they both started laughing, shushing each other at the same time. Dick made a move for the stairs, hoping Jason would follow. He took three steps and stopped for a second, hesitating. What made him move his arm was Jason’s look, his eyes full of hope he hadn’t quite managed to cover in time, his body moving forward a millimeter too much. Dick extended his hand, trying to hold the panic down, to control his heart, feeling foolish for freaking out at  _ hand holding _ . Jason took his fingers between his without thinking, and they started moving again, in synchronized, close steps, Jason’s shoulder brushing Dick’s. They climbed up the stairs to Dick’s room, whispering about the size of the manor again, because it sounded like the easiest thing they could talk about. They were both very aware of the other’s presence, buzzing with something that had nothing to do with alcohol.

The feeling felt foreign to Dick. When he had met Jason, he had immediately pictured touching his hair and holding his hands and curling up against him, and it didn’t happen that much. The people he had had crushes on had always been friends, people he could trust, that he had known for a long while, because they felt safe and secure and it was strong under his feet. With Jason, it felt like at any moment he would trip and fall flat on his face, but it felt more exhilarating than any other crush he ever had. It was exciting, to go from strangers to maybe a bit more without the excruciating years of getting to know each other. Jason had clicked at all the right places. He hoped Jason felt the same thing.

He opened the door to his room and slipped in, dragging Jason behind him. He had shown it to him earlier, a quick glance because it felt intimate and weird, and he noticed Jason taking his time to look at the room now that he could do it freely. Dick dropped Jason’s hand to get to his wardrobe, and pulled out a giant blanket of the top shelf. He opened the door to the balcony and gestured to his guest, who enthusiastically followed him. As Jason walked past, he grabbed Dick’s hand again, and they both sat down on the balcony’s concrete floor, hands dangling from the railing. They put the blanket over their shoulders and huddled closer together. Dick felt like he was in middle school, but it was a nicer feeling than expected. They stayed silent for a little while, Jason getting his little flash of vodka from his pocket and passing it back and forth.

None of them commented on the gardens that shone under the moonlight. Dick was too distracted by Jason’s hand, which had left his fingers and was making its way to his back, all the way to his other hip. Jason laid his fingers there, and slowly pushed Dick closer. Dick went with it, his heart beating irregularly in his chest, the moment building up to what they both had wanted for quite some time now. The pressure on his side was enough that he actually turned around at some point. He was facing Jason now, admiring the stubble on his cheeks and the fine curve of his lips. He was aware of the fact he wasn’t looking at anything else but his mouth, especially because at some point, it curled into a teasing smile.

“Shut up,” Dick muttered as he got closer to Jason, their faces centimeters away from each other.

They were about to touch when a phone rang. They stayed like this, unmoving, for a little while. The phone stopped, and started ringing again. Jason closed his eyes and reached for his pocket, pulling his shitty phone out. He was about to turn it off when he saw the caller ID and made a grimace.  _ Roy _ . If he called at this hour of the night, knowing where he had went to buy what he wanted to buy, Jason absolutely needed to get the call. No boy was worth ignoring a possibly unsafe Roy.

“I…” Jason started.

Dick moved faster than he could finish and kissed him on the cheek. “Take it.”

Jason gave him a grateful smile and got up, putting the phone to his ear. “Roy? Are you alright?”

“Come get me,” Roy answered, his voice weak and slurred and raspy. “I’m scared. I’m scared, I’m so scared, can you please come get me? There’s blood everywhere,” he continued, his voice getting caught in his throat. “Jason, don’t leave me here alone.” 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yet another Longer Than Expected chapter. but i actually really like this one!!! i hope you do too :-) the story is slowly moving forward and it's looking good. i think. i hope. I GUESS CONSIDERING YOUR NICE COMMENTS ABOUT IT!!!! i can't believe i've been blessedt by all of you. thank you to the folks that comment every chapter i see u and i think of u when writing. HERE SINCE DAY ONE AND STILL HERE IT'S A FUCKING MIRACLE IF YOU WANT MY OPINION
> 
> anyway thank u len (do any of you even know who len is at this point i feel like i should properly introduce her go read her super good superbat and jaydick fics her username is figure8. trust me it's some good shit.) and hummy too thank u hummy. im putting this here because i know u like having your name on the chapter notes you absolute loser

Roy was counting the cash he had left. He didn’t have enough for the drugs he wanted, and he certainly did not have enough to eat until the next government aid payment he would get, which would probably be the last, considering it depended on his grades, and he hadn't delivered on those. It killed him (almost literally) that he had to rely on this, and that he couldn’t. He was smart. He didn’t particularly enjoy going to class, but he was smart, and he could’ve walked out of college with a diploma and a job. That’s how he had gotten his scholarship and the additional aid, because he knew he technically had the ability to write essays, and good ones at that. He just didn’t believe he could _physically_ do it. Roy Harper had other things to worry about. Things he couldn’t avoid, like paying what he owed his ex-girlfriend so she could raise their daughter properly, and things he had tried to avoid to no avail, like the drug intake he needed to escape withdrawal, something he wasn’t strong enough to handle and that would probably kill him for good. All in all, it did not leave him much money to do much else, nor did it leave him with the will and want to make good choices. He wasn't given enough money, he wasn’t strong enough, he kept picking the wrong path to walk on, and society hated him. Those were usually the things he repeated in his head whenever he had to blame something for his state of being. Today, it was very much _I’m not strong enough_ , with a touch of _I don’t deserve better_. There was also the classic _I can do it myself_ and _I’m not gonna ask for help_ , that usually brought him trouble but that at least, at the very least, didn’t take away the one thing he had left: pride.

He counted again, discreetly, knowing that if he started pulling out cash in those streets he would get killed in no time. He had arrived in Gotham a few months ago, for college, and also because Jade, his daughter’s mother, had moved there for work. He had obviously been driven to those neighborhoods first, because they were cheaper and you could find anything you wanted. In any given city, he was drawn there, and he usually got the hang of it pretty fast. But Gotham was unforgiving, and harder to figure out than he would have thought. He was still a stranger in those streets, and he knew he wasn’t safe. People here knew each other, they knew who to avoid, who to talk to, who was going to protect them if they got in trouble. Roy thought of Jason, who knew all of this better than he knew anything else. Jason had grown up here, between the shitty buildings, making himself quite the reputation. Roy damned himself for going alone, knowing he would have been safer with his best friend. But it was unlike him to ask for help, especially if it was for something he did with some kind of shame, like buying drugs right after he’d said goodbye to his baby girl.

He knew he would have to negotiate when he walked in the shadowy alleyway where he met his dealer, and he was already thinking of how he would do it. He was a good talker, and usually, he managed to get the things he wanted out of people, and he was heavily counting on that. He scratched at the inside of his wrist inadvertently, an old habit. 

“Hey,” he told the shape of a guy hiding in the dark side of the alley. As the man turned around, he realized it wasn’t his usual dealer, and wondered if he should backtrack or try his luck. “Where’s Frankie?”

“Not here.” The man glared at Roy. “You’re gonna have to deal with me. What d’you usually get?”

Roy squinted, shifting on his feet, looking at the distance between the guy and the end of the street. “I’d rather deal with Frankie. I’ll come back.” He started walking turning his back on the man with a smile that he hoped would be taken the right way. Two people appeared at the end of the street, and he felt more than heard the other man walking right behind him. He raised his hands with another smile. “I’m not looking for trouble,” he just said, clearing his throat. “There’s no need for this.”

The two men walking to him got closer. Roy’s breathing accelerated. “We, on the other hand,” the guy behind his back said, “are looking for cash.”

Roy made a grimace. He knew the right thing to do would be to hand out the cash and run. It would put him in more trouble than he cared to be in for, though, and he calculated whether or not he could take the three of them. One on one, he would win a fight, that was a certainty. Two on one, it would be more tedious, but he had a chance. Three on one was another story, and one he was almost entirely sure wouldn’t end well. He crouched on his knees a little, knowing, despite everything, that he couldn’t give out that money without a fight. He would never forgive himself for breaking so easily. He could take a beating. He waited until the man behind him was close enough, and kicked back between his legs. He heard the man go down with a grunt, and threw himself at one of the others before they could react. He had time to score a sucker punch before the second guy grabbed his arms, trying to hold him back. He stomped on his foot with all his strength and the man let go. He turned around, about to throw another punch, but he received one in the ribs. It took him a moment to get his breath back, during which he stumbled at a punch on his jaw, and fell back because of a kick in his stomach. He shook his head and swiped his leg to make one of his attackers fall. He didn’t hit strongly enough and the man just raised one leg, swearing at him before he put his foot back down on Roy’s trachea.

Roy choked and struggled to break free as the other man looked in his pocket for whatever cash he had. He found the stack of 20 dollar bills and grabbed it. He then went to his fallen friend and put an arm around his shoulder, helping him up.

“Don’t go running after us,” the man with his foot on Roy’s neck whispered. He then moved his foot to leave, giving Roy the one last opportunity he wanted to take.

Roy didn’t wait to get his breath back fully and reached for one of the two guys’ ankles. He didn’t successfully stop him and got his fingers crushed instead.

“You’re going to regret this,” the man said, turning back and reaching for something inside his pocket. He got out a pocket knife, smiling as Roy difficultly crawled back, his eyes widening as he saw the weapon.

Roy didn’t go very far and gasped at the first time the blade opened his skin and slid in between two of his ribs, whimpered at the second time it sliced his torso, and fell back, unmoving, as his stomach tore under the third strike. The three men left then, running away from the alley, leaving him for dead. Hurting everywhere, Roy reached for his pocket, tears stinging his eyes. He grabbed his phone with his working fingers, struggling to get what he wanted. 911 would have been more efficient, but the hospital would ask questions he didn’t want to give answers to. They would put him back in a bad place, they would make him pay with the last of the money he had, and he couldn’t have that. He couldn’t have afford the hospital or the interviews post recovery.

He thanked his past self for putting Jason on speed dial, and pressed the button. He got no answer at first, and almost screamed of frustration. He thought of the fact he only had a small half of the cash the men had took left – always put your cash in two different places, he had learned early on. He thought of how Jason would be disappointed in him if he let himself die on the pavement after a mugging he could have prevented. He thought of Jason learning of his death after he had just missed his call. He thought of his daughter, and the way she had gripped his finger right before he left her. He pressed the _call_ button a second time, and heard Jason’s voice. Raising the phone to his torso, he dropped it under his chin, having very little strength to do any better than that, hoping Jason would hear.

“Come get me,” Roy answered, his voice weak and slurred and raspy. “I’m scared. I’m scared, I’m so scared, can you please come get me? There’s blood everywhere,” he continued, his voice getting caught in his throat. “Jason, don’t leave me here alone.”

“Roy,” Jason answered, sounding surprisingly calm. “Roy, can you tell me where you are?”

Roy tried to speak between ragged breaths and failed, the sudden panic of calling someone and making his situation clear and saying it out loud overwhelming his attempts at focusing on what Jason was asking.

“Roy,” Jason repeated again. “Are you still with me? I’m coming to get you, man. Just stay awake, alright? Don’t black out on me.”

“Jason,” Roy just said. He struggled, coughing on the blood in his mouth and his spit. “Frankie,” he breathed out, hoping it would be enough.

“Frankie,” Jason answered, thinking. He snapped his fingers. “Stay awake, buddy. I’m hanging up now, you focus on breathing, and I’m coming to get you. It’s alright Roy, you’re alright. I’m gonna be here soon.”

Roy heard the tonality go dead and closed his eyes. It took him a while to open them again, but he would be strong, because kids like him never had any other choice.

 

***

 

“I need your car,” Jason said abruptly, turning back to Dick. “I’m sorry, Roy is in big trouble, and I need to go get him.”

“Where is he?” Dick said, raising from the ground of the balcony. “What’s going on?”

Jason made a vague hand gesture. “He wasn’t strong enough to speak, but I think he got mugged or something. He’s in crime alley, I just need a way to get there,” he insisted. “Where are your keys?”

Dick nodded, grabbing his keys from his bedside table. “Here. Let’s go.”

Jason, who had been on his way to the door, stopped moving. “You’re not coming.”

“I’m not coming?” Dick snorted. “Right. I’m coming. It’s dangerous out there. You’re not going alone.”

“Dangerous? And _you’re_ going to defend me?”

Dick shrugged. “You don’t think I can?”

“I don’t think that’s necessary,” Jason answered, reaching for the keys. Dick pulled back, taking a step backward. “I don’t have time for this, Richard.”

“I’m not letting you go alone. If Roy got mugged, or whatever, you’re not running after him in the dark,” Dick answered, closing his arms on his chest. “If you’re in a hurry, just let me come with you.”

Jason took three steps forward, getting as close to Dick as they had been in a very different setting ten minutes ago. Except this time he didn’t hesitate, and lowered his head to put his lips on Dick’s. Jason grabbed the man’s waist with one hand and slipped his other hand against his crossed arms, kissing him with urgency.

He was very dumbfounded when his partner pushed him back firmly, a scowl on his face.

“Did you really think you could steal my keys mid-kiss?” Dick protested, shoving past Jason. “Thanks a lot.”

Jason groaned. “I was just-”

“No need to explain,” Dick said abruptly. “You’re going with me, or not at all,” he ended, opening the door to the hallway, looking at Jason with a cocked eyebrow. “Your choice.”

“Fine,” Jason said reluctantly, walking past Dick. “But I did really want that kiss.”

“Don’t talk to me,” Dick answered as he led Jason to the garage, jogging to make up for lost time. He slowed down in the stairs when he noticed light on the floor of Tim’s room, and wondered if he should say anything. He thought of what he was doing, drunk driving to crime alley in the middle of the night, and decided against warning anybody. If no one could find out, things would work out better for everyone. He couldn’t blame Tim if he decided to call Bruce when he knew where they were going. And he _would_ call Bruce.

He just hoped Tim hadn’t heard them, and ran faster to his car.  

 

***

 

Bruce had stopped in the kitchen on his way back to the living room. He could hear people talking again, and felt better at the thought of sitting back down around the table. The group of professors were all used to these dinners going to hell really fast, and they were also used to Bruce-related shenanigans. They also all knew Bruce and Hal had been a thing – hell, most of them had been at that party too. It wasn’t really the fact in itself, Bruce wasn’t ashamed of that, it was just the attention that came with that kind of topics, and the rise of questions that was impossible to miss, and talking about himself to a group of people. He was already dizzy from the alcohol, but he was _not_ drunk enough for an entire table eavesdropping on his sexual encounters. He made a mental note of checking on Hal, knowing it probably had not been the start of a good evening for him.

He was more worried, maybe ridiculously so, about Clark, that was definitely not used to this, nor knew about that kind of stuff. Sure, he had heard stuff, and if he was invited, it meant everyone liked him enough that they trusted him not to be rude, but still. Nothing was going the way Bruce would have wanted it to go. Nothing ever did, but this was one thing that every time, he thought he could have done right. It had been the same thing with Hal. He liked Hal. Hal was a pain, and both their insecurities clicked differently, making it impossible for them to make each other feel good about stuff, but they understood some things about the others, and they enjoyed each other’s company – as much as Bruce liked to say he didn’t. Now that time had passed since they had first met, Bruce realized they would never have been something good as an _item_. But even if they could have been, he had handled it so terribly, it would never have happened. He liked shooting himself in the foot like this, it kept him from having a good time, ever. The Clark situation was no different. Bruce now knew that he hadn’t been imagining stuff either, that Clark would have liked things going a _bit_ further, if only just physically, he guessed, but he was still so terrified of going that way, never being able to handle the consequences. He couldn’t go down that road. Especially if he was going to work in the same corridor for God knew how long.

“What’s the emergency?” someone said in his back, and he turned around.

“It was Dick. No emergency,” he answered Dinah with a small smile. “The current emergency is the clear lack of alcohol in your kitchen, though.”

“That’s not good for you,” she said as she moved to drop an empty plate next to the sink, and pull out a full bottle of wine from under it.

“Thanks,” Bruce said, grateful as he opened it and refilled his glass. It was a long process, getting to the rightful amount of drunk with wine, especially for someone his size, but he would get there eventually. “What is it you wanted to say earlier?”

“Oh,” she said, snapping her fingers like she just remembered. “Right. You know Clark’s a replacement, right? He’ll be gone by the end of next semester.”

Bruce almost dropped his glass out of sheer surprise. “What?”

“I can’t believe you didn’t know. You’re out of your game, Wayne,” she answered with a wink. “He’s replacing a pregnant professor. He’s gone in about six months, if you want to make your move.”

“You’d encourage me to engage in something I know is doomed to fail or end in the foreseeable future?” Bruce asked suspiciously. “And someone I can emotionally detach myself from because it’s temporary? My own psychiatrist?”

Dinah crossed her arms against her chest, her lips set in an unimpressed line. “I’m talking to you as a friend. But as your psychiatrist _and_ your friend, I know for a fact temporary doesn’t guarantee a safe emotional space for you, so really, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Bruce sipped his wine angrily.

“I’m telling you this because if you can fool yourself into thinking that if it’s temporary, then you can maybe go ahead, you should,” Dinah finished with a shrug. “You’re not going to die because you agreed to go on a date.”

“Why are we talking about going on a date?” Bruce said with a grimace. “I haven’t had nearly enough character development to talk about _dates_ yet.”

“He wants to.”

“Yes, well,” Bruce grumbled. “We can’t always get what we want.”

Dinah glared at the door and made for the bathroom, leaving Bruce alone with his bottle of wine and a now empty glass. Again. Bruce watched her leave with a frown, and understood why the minute he saw the shape of Clark Kent in the door.

“Hey,” Clark said.

Bruce filled his glass up again.

“I wasn’t eavesdropping,” he started with, clearing his throat. “I just wanted to tell you I was sorry.”

“What for?”

Clark sighed. “You know what for. Stop me if I’m wrong, but your silences and apparent shyness mean something that’s more close to tense and uncomfortable than intimate and eager, don’t they?” Bruce didn’t answer, and Clark nodded sharply. “Then I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that, and I hope I didn’t…” he looked for the words, and found them with a small smile. “Make you upset, or uncomfortable.” 

“I didn’t stop you,” Bruce answered carefully, taken aback by Clark’s unabashed caring.

Clark scoffed. “You did say _no,_ like, six times.”

“In your defense, it was practically a yes,” Bruce said, embarrassed by Clark’s behavior, the way he had no problems coming up to him and apologizing for something like this. The way he had no problem opening his mouth and talking about something delicate, and the way he did it so easily.

“I can defend myself,” Clark said curtly. “Anyway,” Clark said again, taking a breath. “Won’t happen again. Message received.”

Bruce started laughing. Clark was frowning, trying to connect the dots and see which correlation Bruce had made in his brain to be laughing right now. He didn’t find it. Bruce was still laughing, wondering how he had managed to pull off a vibe that said _don’t ever kiss me again_. The entire evening, half his brain had decided that its mission would solely be to think hard and with a lot of details about all the ways the kiss could have went differently. Maybe with more tongue. Or maybe he could have turned around. Maybe he could have put his hands in Clark’s hair – Clark had really good hair. Maybe Clark could have grabbed his neck a little longer. Maybe he could have just _not_ answered Oliver’s call. All this time thinking about all those different scenarios, all of that for Clark to come to him and tell him that he got the loud and clear message of _don’t you even_ think _about touching me_.

Bruce tried to drink and laugh at the same time and choked, coughing as he put his glass down.

“Are you alright?” Clark asked, confused.

“Fine,” Bruce answered with an accidental squeaky voice. He cleared his throat. “Fine. I’m perfect. I feel good. Refreshed and relaxed.”

Clark just stared at him.

Bruce’s phone rang for the second time, making it his third call of the evening, and he gave a long, exhausted sigh. “I leave _two hours_ ,” he mumbled as he got it out of his pocket. “Tim? What is it?”

His son’s voice was surprisingly panicky for him, who was usually quite in control of his levels of anguish. What he showed of it, anyway. “Dick and Jason are drunk driving to crime alley right now,” he blurted out.

Bruce dropped his glass for real, this time. It shattered on the floor, spilling wine everywhere. “Come again?”

“Dick and Jason are drunk driving to crime alley,” Tim repeated. “A friend of Jason is in trouble, big trouble, and I heard them leave, and…” Bruce waited for Tim to finish his sentence, hoping this was just a big joke. “I didn’t want to call you, because I don’t want to be the snitch, but they drank and I’m not sure they’re going to be safe and I don’t know what to do,” he said in one big breath. Bruce could hear his breathing accelerate, the start of a panic attack that wouldn’t be Tim’s first. Probably not his last, either. “I’m sure they’ll be safe, but I wanted to go with them to make sure but they left too fast, and I don’t want to go after them alone or wake Alfred up but I don’t want to bother you and and—”

“Tim,” Bruce said harshly, cutting him before he spiraled down. “Tim, calm down. Deep breaths. You’re good. You did good. You made the right decision.”

“I don’t know, I don’t know,” Tim said. “Maybe there’s no reason to panic, I don’t want to worry anyone, I don’t know.”

Bruce closed his eyes slowly, calming down so they wouldn’t _both_ be panicking on the phone. “Tim, I’m going to get them. Whatever trouble they got themselves in, I’m going to help.” His mouth felt dry but he pushed the words out anyway, the alcohol helping. “You always do the right thing. Tonight’s no different. I’ll keep you updated, son. Don’t worry. I’m here now.”

“Ok,” Tim answered in his little voice, the one he had when his anxiety took over. Usually, Bruce was around to be the reassuring presence, the big, calming voice to Tim’s shrinking, but not tonight. Bruce made another mental note to give Tim a hug when he came home. “Ok. I love you, Dad,” Tim whispered.

Bruce opened his mouth and closed it. He made the effort of muttering “me too” before he hung up the phone. He didn’t have time to think about this right now.

“Is something wrong?” Clark asked, worried again.

Bruce gave him a glance and pocketed his phone, heading for the exit. “Yes.”

Clark walked behind him, trying to come up with something to say. “Can I do anything?”

“No,” Bruce answered. He took the hallway that avoided the living room, not really caring for everyone’s sorry face as he explained what was up. If he could leave without anyone noticing, it would be great. Dinah walked out the bathroom at the same time he reached it, and he grabbed her wrist. “Can you tell everyone to have a good evening for me? Dick and his friend are in trouble, I have to go get them.”

“In trouble? Where? What’s going on?” Dinah asked, suddenly all tense, forever worried about Dick.

“Old Gotham,” Bruce said not to say _crime alley_. “I can’t explain right now, I don’t have much more information than you do, but they’re not safe there. And they’re drunk driving, Tim’s telling me. I have to go.”

Dinah nodded. “Call us when you know more, alright?”

“You’re not driving there alone,” Clark said, appearing next to Bruce. “You’re probably as drunk as your son, you’re not driving there.”

Bruce turned to Clark. “Not now, Kent,” he just answered, walking to the front door.

Clark didn’t stay in the hallway and walked behind him, insisting. “You’re going to kill yourself or someone before you get there,” he called after him. “Bruce, let me drive. I only had one glass.”

“He’s right,” Dinah said. “And he’s probably the only sober person in the flat. “You can’t keep blaming Dick for things _you_ repeatedly do.”

There was a long silence between the three of them, Dinah and Bruce looking at each other, the woman easily handling his stare. Clark was tapping on the floor with his feet, wanting to speak and knowing it was a bad idea to do so.

“Fine,” Bruce blurted out. “Fine. Just because I don’t have time to fight over this.”

Clark shrugged, a way of telling Bruce _whatever helps you sleep at night_ , and they half walked half ran to the underground garage. Bruce threw his keys at Clark and they both sat in the car, in opposite seats.

“If you don’t drive fast enough I’m throwing you out,” Bruce said as Clark revved the engine.

“I understand,” Clark answered as he drove the Lamborghini out. It was his first time driving such a car, and he was kind of sad it was in such circumstances. 

Bruce took his phone out and texted Dick. _Everything okay?_ He waited for the answer, giving his son a chance to come clear immediately. “Turn left,” he told Clark, barely looking at the road. The answer finally came. _All good xx._ Bruce recoiled back from the phone, like he’d been hit. He called Dick, the tonality resonating in his ear. It seemed to go on indefinitely, Bruce getting increasingly disappointed and worried as time went. “Another left,” he told Clark, that was focused on driving, hands on the wheels and eyes on the road, a barely contained silence. Bruce reached Dick’s voicemail and stared at his phone, not understanding any of what was going on. He was about to try and call again when his phone rang.

“Selina?” he said in the phone, surprised as he always was that she had godly timing. Every time.

“What’s your son doing in this part of Gotham so late at night?” she asked, curious. “I just saw him not answer your call from right under my window.”

Bruce sat up, aggressively pointing at Clark to take a right turn and go faster. “Are you kidding?”

“Unfortunately, Brucie, I’m not,” she answered. “Normally I wouldn’t be the snitch, but he’s hanging with Jason Todd, which means trouble is near.”

Bruce rubbed his forehead, breathing loudly. “Jason Todd brings trouble?”

Selina laughed in the phone. “Him personally, no. He stopped bringing trouble a long time ago,” she answered. “But he usually walks directly into it. He’s got a savior complex, but he’s good at it. He pulls it off.”

“I think it has something to do with a friend of him,” Bruce said, pointing at another road. They were near now, and if they had been right under Selina’s window, he was almost entirely sure of where they were going. “Did you hear anything from crime alley, or around?”

“Nothing,” Selina answered. “Do you want me to go check it out?”

“I’m here soon. No need to put you in danger for nothing.”

“You know I’m not in danger on these streets,” she answered, her voice sure and steady.

Bruce’s heart missed a beat, and he took another deep breath. “Still. Stay home. If anything happens, I’ll call you.”

“Do you want me to get Lee?”

“I can’t be sure it’ll be necessary,” Bruce answered, but he knew it was a bet he couldn’t afford to take. Lee was more often than not needed in those cases.

“I’ll get here anyway. Text you when I know more about the situation,” Selina said, and he could hear her move around her tiny flat. He imagined her avoiding cats and bowls of cereals on the ground, taking her coat and keys in one hand as she opened the door with the other. “Stay available if we need to get Lee.”

“Thank you, Selina,” he just answered, because he barely ever had anything else he could tell her.

She hung up, and he urged Clark to go faster.

“Are you sure we should enter that part of the city in a Lamborghini?”

“It’s my Lamborghini,” Bruce answered, looking out the windows for people he might know that could help. He knew a _lot_ of people in Old Gotham, many of whom worked for him. He had made a point to keep this part of town alive, not to let it die like his parents had years ago. He had never gave up on the people that lived there all year, that risked their lives just by going home at night, that were trying to live a better life and were only rewarded by the disdain of the city council. Bruce owned more than 90% of the buildings here, making it impossible for anyone to touch the district without his permission. He had created jobs here, had improved security, had spent hours roaming in the streets trying to make people understand he was here for good things.

“They know your Lamborghini?” Clark asked, dubious.

“No one here robs Bruce Wayne,” Bruce answered, with a certainty that was devoid of arrogance, as if he knew he was safe because of the power he held over those people and streets, but like it was no reason to brag about it. “Stop the car,” he said as they reached the closest to what was the main street. Selina’s flat was a few meters ahead, and crime alley was a side street, ahead on the left.

Clark parked on the side of the street. He had plenty of spots to choose from, considering the lack of vehicles parked anywhere. “What does that mean? You’re too famous to be mugged?”

“I spent a lot of times here,” Bruce said, checking his phone, waiting for a text from Selina. “Trying to rebuild and salvage what could be. I haven’t really been here in a while, I don’t know the new generation as well, but everyone my age and older knows me on a more personal level. They won’t let anything happen to me.”

Clark nodded, one eyebrow raised, as if impressed. He was distracted by someone running in the direction of the car, holding a handbag and laughing. The man was looking behind him, at the girl who had been left almost kneeling on the street, insulting him with all she had. Bruce didn’t have time to get out of the car. The robber ran on the sidewalk, and Clark put his hand on the door handle, waiting for the perfect moment. He abruptly opened the door right as the man reached it, and smiled victoriously as he collided face first and at top speed with the Lamborghini’s door, flying backwards on the sidewalk.

“Ah,” Clark shouted in the face of the knocked out guy, who was bleeding through his nose, and who had let the handbag go. “That’ll teach you.”

The girl ran up to them, reaching for her handbag before anything else. She glared at the car, and at Clark. “Who the fuck are you?”

Bruce moved forward to be seen, waving at her. “You okay?”

“You Bruce Wayne?” she said, gasping.

He nodded. “In the flesh.”

She smiled at him. “Wow. The legend. Well. Thanks.”

“Clark Kent is the one you should be thanking,” Bruce answered, pointing at Clark, that just looked uncomfortable now that he had to take the praise.

“Does he own the Lamborghini?” the girl asked.

“No, the car is mine.”

“Then no thanks to him,” she said, and waved at Bruce as she left the street, hurrying to reach her door.

Clark looked at her go, his mouth half open. Bruce chuckled seeing his face. “Don’t take it personally,” Bruce said, trying to tone down the beating of his heart that informed him he was more than impressed with how quickly and accurately Clark had reacted. He hadn’t even hesitated.

Clark sighed and shook his head. “I’m guessing you don’t do that kind of stuff for praise anyway.”

“You can,” Bruce answered. “But it would be misplaced pride.”

Clark looked at the guy on the pavement, and back at Bruce. “I think he hit it so hard he passed out.”

“Good for him.”

“What do we do with him?”

Bruce opened the glove compartment and got handcuffs out. “Leave him there with a note for the police.”

“What the fuck?” Clark said, looking at Bruce walk out of the car, holding handcuffs. _This is so unreal_ , Clark though. Bruce shrugged and walk to the guy, dragging him to the nearest street lamp. “You always keep handcuffs in your car?”

Bruce didn’t answer that, and dialed the police. He explained the situation quickly and hung up, leaving the man slowly waking up to being tied to a street lamp with a bleeding nose and a huge bump on his forehead.

“Kinky,” Clark just whispered as Bruce sat back down next to him. Bruce gave him a glare that Clark tried to ignore.

“We’re not here to have fun,” Bruce noted. “I’m waiting for Selina to tell me what’s going on. I’m giving her one more minute and then we’re moving.” His stomach was in tight knots because of worry and anxiety and the near proximity of crime alley. From the outside, he looked like he was just having another random evening, but he was having trouble keeping himself swimming in the ocean of catastrophic scenarios he was imagining. Right now, he had reached the _Dick is dead and I will never see my son again let’s find a way to make it impossible for me to think it’s anything but my fault_  level, which wasn’t even the worst stage of his worry.

“Have you ever given any thought to becoming a vigilante?” Clark asked, just to keep the conversation going, because he had noticed the way Bruce kept wiping his sweaty palms on his jeans, the way he eyes darted from one street to the other, the way he was nervously hitting his phone on his thigh, the way he bit his lips, the panic in his eyes and the nervousness in the tight setting of his mouth. “Like, dressing up and saving your city during the night. Sleep during the day.”

Bruce snorted. “I have, actually.”

“I’m not surprised,” Clark said with a smirk. “What stopped you?”

Bruce was about to answer when his phone rang. “Selina?”

“Crime Alley. Bring Lee,” she just said in the phone, hanging up immediately afterwards.

Bruce gave Clark directions urgently, all the ease between them disappearing as anxiety shot back up. Clark did his best to move fast, driving between the small streets as quickly as he could. He had to abruptly stop the car again in front of a building. “Wait here,” Bruce said. Clark watched him go, kind of anxious to wait alone.

Bruce walked up the steps of the building, where three young men were sitting. “Move,” he told them.

“You gotta pay to enter,” one of them said with a smirk.

Bruce took a deep breath, damning himself for not having time to know the younger kids in Old Gotham. 10 years ago, they would have let him pass as if he was a valuable guest. 10 years ago, he would have also remembered who Jason Todd was, and he would have been able to figure out what kind of trouble he would be up to. But the one that had stayed, always, because she belonged there, had been Selina. Bruce, however long he hung around, would always be a stranger to those streets. A stranger you treated like family, but a stranger still. He grabbed the collar of the man in front of him and raised him up from the ground with one hand. He slammed him against the front door hard enough that the wood shook on its hinges. “Don’t make me ask twice.”

The man nodded quickly and let him through. Bruce climbed up the stairs and knocked on Lee’s door. Lee had always been up and ready to help anyone in the neighborhood. She was a skilled doctor, and would have made a fortune had she chosen another place to live. But as it was, she was the only trained doctor around, and had a lot of work here. She had chosen to help the less fortunate, building herself a reputation and a life among the thugs and the unlucky, never apologizing to anyone and respected by all. Bruce admired her greatly, and he knew she would be up to help. After all, the closest thing she had to a regular pay and brand new equipment came directly from Bruce’s bank account. She opened the door quickly, halfway through putting her coat on already. She knew of emergencies.

“Bruce?” she asked, surprised to see _him_ here.

“Do you know who Jason Todd is?”

Lee chuckled. “A local. Is he in trouble?”

“A friend of him. We need your help,” he said, his voice suddenly breaking on the last word. Lee had known him his entire life. She’d been here when his parents had died, actually, had taken him under her wing as the police sorted out the whole mess, had made sure he wasn’t hurt. Asking her for help always woke things up in him he would rather keep asleep. “Please.”

Lee smiled at him and nodded, grabbing her keys and her first aid kit, closing the door behind her. “Go.”

They both ran down the stairs, joining Clark in the car.

 

***

 

Jason had been holding Roy’s hand for a while now, pressing against his wounds, excruciatingly waiting for Lee to get there. When Dick and him had found Roy, lying on the ground in a small pool of his own blood, shaking and barely awake, they had ran to him, panicked. Surprisingly, Jason’s calm facing urgent situations, a skill he had mastered while living his entire life in a state of distress, had disappeared the minute he had seen Roy. Contrarily, Dick, that had been stressed the entire way there, had been the only one capable of giving clear instructions and thinking fast and well to solve the situation. Jason lost his cold blood when seeing people he cared about in danger. Dick seemed to be able to panic when it wouldn’t hurt anyone, and get the situation under control when others needed him too. Something Jason admired greatly, as if he had asked for any other reason to admire him.

Selina had gotten here thirty seconds after them, informing them that Bruce was coming, which had make Dick whiten and stutter, and Jason angry. He didn’t need to owe Bruce anything else. Roy would be _mad._ If Bruce didn’t bring Lee with him, Roy would be dead, but if Roy survived, he would definitely be _pissed_ to know Bruce had been the one saving his life. Jason could understand. Bruce was smart, and he would know why Roy had been here, and what money he had intended to spend on drugs. Dick, on the other hand, was just bracing himself for the incoming fight, having lied almost to his father’s face, something they just didn’t do anymore. Jason was grateful Dick had wanted to protect both him and Roy, but it had ended up biting him back in the ass anyway. None of them said anything, though, because without Bruce and Lee, they would have much bigger issues to solve, and a death to deal with.

After what seemed to be an eternity, a car pulled up in the street.

“Why is Mr. Kent driving?” Dick asked, surprised.

Selina glared at him. “Mr. Kent?”

Jason was ignoring them both, stroking Roy’s cheek. “Help is here, Roy. Hold on just a little while longer.” Roy nodded weakly, and that’s all Jason needed. He gave him a smile and moved to let Lee see his wounds. She had ran, pushing past everyone, holding her first aid kit, getting to it without further ado. She was used to this.

“Jason, hold this,” she said, handing him a compress. He did as he was asked, and took a second to glance up at Dick, who kept his eyes fixated on Roy, avoiding Bruce.

Bruce was standing next to Selina, who was giving him a side-hug, her arm under his coat. They were whispering to each other.

“Are you ever going to give me back my watch?” he asked.

She smiled, an amused one. “Are you kidding? I’m still paying next month’s rent with that.”

He shook his head, but couldn’t keep a grin from forming on his lips. He was, too, carefully avoiding Dick, building his anger and disappointment from the ground up, working at it relentlessly, knowing that when they would be alone, it would explode, and it would explode with a vengeance.

Dick moved to sit against the hood of the car, next to Clark, that was looking at the scene, a little dumbfounded. He would have helped with something had anyone asked, but he felt like he was completely out of place here, and had wisely decided to stay back.

“Who is she?” he asked Dick, pointing to Selina.

“Bruce’s soulmate,” Dick answered without any other details.

Clark nodded slowly, visibly not understanding. Dick didn’t make it clearer. They all stayed silent until Lee spoke up again.

“Bruce,” she called. She pointed at Clark without looking at him. “Big, wide man over there. Come help me carry him up.” Clark pointed at himself, wondering if he was _big wide man_. Dick elbowed him and he moved forward, in synchronized steps with Bruce.

“I need you to carry him up and bring him to the car, but with the minimum amount of moving around. I patched up the wounds, and I would like it very much if they didn’t re-open completely again,” Lee added, getting back up. Her knees were covered in blood. “I’m going to stich him up correctly once we’re home.”

Jason had to let go of Roy’s hand. Roy, who had woken up at the pain of having his wounds played around with, was dozing back again. Clark and Bruce looked at each other over his body and slipped their arms under him, moving as one. They got to the car, lying him down on the back seats.

“Jason,” Bruce said, not bothering talking to Dick. “Get the car and follows us to Lee’s.”

They nodded, Dick carefully walking behind Jason. It was useless, considering Bruce didn’t look back at him as he sat back in the car, Clark behind the wheel, Lee awkwardly sitting where she could in the backseat. They all moved to Lee’s, Selina with Dick and Jason.

Carrying Roy was more complicated when it was up the stairs, but they managed anyway, with Roy wincing only when it really hurt. They moved him to a room in Lee’s flat where she could take care of him properly. He asked for Jason and she allowed him to come inside with him, saying he would need the support. The rest of them waited in the small living room.

Bruce sat down, Selina on his knees. He said nothing, his head resting on the wall behind him. The anxiety and worry and anger were all dying down at the same time, leaving him with faint dizziness and huge, huge tiredness. Selina was sitting silently, her hand on his biceps, a reassuring gesture that helped him relax. Clark was on the other side of the room, visibly uncomfortable, still wondering what he was doing here and what he was supposed to do, or say. Dick was standing in front of the door to where Roy and Jason were, trying to see through the little window. He didn’t see much, and so he started pacing, as if it was his own best friend under the knife.

“He’s safe, Dick,” Selina said, doing her best to calm both father and son, considering they weren’t going to do it themselves. “There’s no need to worry.”

“He’s not the only one I’m worrying for,” Dick answered, and went back to looking through the window.

Selina had no answer to that, and went back to silence. It lasted a while. Clark wondered if Bruce had fallen asleep, but when he heard the door open, he was up and ready so fast that he doubted the man had even relaxed at all. Dick was playing with his fingers, looking behind Lee, who looked more tired than all of them.

“He’s going to be fine,” she started with. Dick’s shoulder relaxed a little, but not enough. Bruce moved his hand, as if to put it on Dick’s arm, but then put it back against his side, stubbornly vexed. Lee looked at the two of them, raised an eyebrow and ended up sighing. “I don’t even want to know. Anyway,” she went on. “He’s staying here for the night, I don’t want him to move again. He can sleep here and we’ll see in the morning if he’s got enough energy to move. He said he didn’t want a real hospital, I didn’t bother asking,” Lee noted, as if any of them needed precision. They could have guessed. “So I’m not sure where he’s gonna go after that to rest, but we’ll worry later.”

“He’s welcome at the manor,” Bruce said uselessly.

Lee smiled at him, putting her hand on his cheek. “I know, Bruce. Thank you.”

Bruce gave a sharp nod. He glanced at Jason, seeing Dick worry about him without a word. “What about him?”

Lee turned around. Roy had raised his hand, tugging the white streak in Jason’s hair. Their faces were very close, and they were whispering, way too low for anyone else to hear what was going on. It looked intimate, and warm, and Roy was smiling a little. Dick was looking at the scene with genuine anguish, as if Roy was dying here on the table. He wasn’t, and evidently, his sadness came from someplace else, a sorrow that seemed to fight with anger in his eyes. It gave him an expression Bruce knew well. He had seen it many times on his son, and he knew sadness would win, as it always did. It was one of the biggest difference between the two of them. Dick couldn’t stay angry the way his father did.

“Is Jason staying here?”

Lee shook her head. “No way. Not enough room, certainly not for parasites that have nothing to do here. He’s going home.”

Bruce dragged his hand down his face. “Alright. Let’s go home, then.”

Clark got up. “Are you sober enough to drive?” Bruce turned around, his eyes blood shot, trembling a little on his legs. “That’s a no.”

“I can drive,” Bruce insisted.

“If you’re sober enough, you’re too tired and tense, so, no. I’m driving.”

“Whatever,” Bruce said, clearly giving up. He gave another glance at Dick, who was just looking at Jason with a pained grimace on his face. Bruce wanted to know what was going on and didn’t. He would know some other way, he guessed. “ _Fuck_ ,” Bruce exclaimed. He got his phone out. “ ** _Fuck_** _._ I forgot to warn Tim.”

“That makes two of us,” Dick said with a small smile, as if finally trying to start peaceful conversation.

“Shut the fuck up,” Bruce answered without so much as a glance to him. Dick took a step back. Bruce typed a message as quickly as possible, thinking that the only son that had been good to him tonight was the one that didn’t deserve any of this. _All good. Roy safe, Dick safe, Jason safe too. Bringing Jason and your brother home. Sorry for the late text. Thank you again, Tim. You saved someone’s life tonight._ He reread it and thought it was enough, pressing send without thinking about it twice. “Let’s go home. Jason. Move.”

Jason turned around, surprised. “I can take the bus to the dorms.”

“No,” Bruce answered. “No one else is getting stabbed tonight.”

Jason chuckled. “No offense, but these are my streets. I won’t get stabbed. I know my shit.”

“Right, and Roy was a beginner that had never bought drugs before,” Bruce said, a look that said _that’s not debatable._ “You’re sleeping at the Manor tonight, and we’ll take you home tomorrow. Besides,” he added with a frown, “I think Tim will be happy to see you in one piece. Considering none of you warned him, and all.”

There was an embarrassing silence. Jason squeezed Roy’s hand and got up, deciding it was best not to argue. Bruce kissed Lee on the cheek to say goodbye, promising her he’d come back soon. Clark was standing next to the door, and he waved at both Lee and Selina. Selina answered with a wink that he didn’t know the meaning of. She then turned to Bruce, kissing _him_ on the cheek, whispering something in his ear. Shortly after, they were all walking down the stairs to the car.

“Are you sober enough to drive?” Bruce asked Jason, as if that wasn’t hypocritical of him.

“I made it all the way here, didn’t I?” Jason answered, not knowing if he should be grateful or pissed. The situation was strange, it had all went so fast, he didn’t have time to actually realize he was the reason for Bruce’s panic and rush to go get Dick, and that he would probably be in the range of the man’s anger when _he_ would realize it too.

“Can I go home with you?” Dick asked Bruce, trying again.

“No. I don’t want to see you right now,” Bruce said with a vague hand gesture. “Go with Jason. Or with Clark, if you don’t want to see Jason either. I don’t care. Someone just take me home.”

There was another silence, and Clark and Jason exchanged keys without a word. Clark pushed Dick to his own car silently, as Jason moved to the Lamborghini.

“You trust me with this?” Jason asked as Bruce sat down next to him.

Bruce blinked. “If you crash it, you better crash it well enough that we both die and hope I don’t come back from the dead to see the wreck,” he just said before putting his head against the window.

“Fair enough,” Jason said, starting the car. “Wow,” he said again as the motor made its signature noise. He never in his life would have thought he would drive Bruce Wayne’s Lamborghini. He had dreamed about it, maybe. _Once, okay?_ But actually _live_ the thing, that was something else.

Bruce couldn’t help but smile. He was surprised at his own reaction, thinking he wouldn’t have been able to stretch his lips like this before at least the end of next week, but all he had needed was Jason’s little whistling as he revved the engine. After all that had happened, Jason looked like a little kid holding the wheel.

“Can I go over the speed limit or is that forbidden?” Jason asked, a shit eating grin across his face.

Bruce gave him a wink. “I’m sleeping. I don’t know. I’m not here. Don’t ask me stuff.”

Jason put his foot on the accelerator pedal. “ _Fair enough_ ,” he repeated. The car reacted instantly to his foot, and he drove forward, an unexpected huge smirk on his face. This was not how he had thought the evening would end. “To Wayne Manor, then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> see you soon for next chap i hope you all liked this one and are still eager for the next xxxxx


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 300 kudos fam.. this is so #amazing   
> thank you for all the nice comments yet again you guys never fail to disappoint. this chap got less ACTION in it but i hope you'll like it anyway (the beginning of a New Era for all the characters aka End Single Life)!! i need to stop talking about my chapter before you actually read the chapter but like.. i can't help it  
> anyway thanks len for the beta as always and hummy for the moral support SHOULD I EVEN BOTHER SAYING IT EVERY TIME
> 
> have fun kids tell me what you all thought!!!

Jason slowed the car down as he reached the long road that led to the manor. He had had a lot of fun with the Lamborghini, especially when they’d left the city behind and had reached the empty road that led to the private properties that surrounded North Gotham. He’d been a bit worried about Bruce at first, but when the man had opened the roof he had realized quickly that he had no reason to stress out. Subsequently, Jason had started going much faster, the air ruffling their hair as he tried not to smile too much or laugh too loudly. Sitting behind this wheel meant allowing himself a moment to forget about everything, to just enjoy something he had never thought he’d ever have the honor to enjoy, and it had been a good thing. He didn’t regret exchanging keys with Clark, who they had lost at the first intersection. The other professor was probably pissed that he’d been there for everyone’s safety to finally end up watching Bruce and Jason go way over the speed limit with alcohol still in their veins. Jason didn’t really care that much. He had been in much more dangerous situations before.

“Thank you,” he said as he waited for the big door with a carved  _ W  _ on it to open. “For letting me drive,” he added, thinking a vague thank you wasn’t enough, and not ready to thank him for the other things. “Even if I put your son in danger and everything,” he also added, clearing his throat. “Won’t happen again.”

Bruce turned to look at him, eyes undecipherable. “Wasn’t your fault,” he said. “I’d rather this doesn’t happen again, though. But really.”

“I didn’t want him to come,” Jason said, tapping his fingers on the wheel. “He forced me to take him.”

“I know,” Bruce answered. “I figured he’d want to come.” Jason turned to look back at Bruce. “He thinks he understands what those streets mean to people that are tied to them by circumstances, but he doesn’t. I guess I’m to blame for this.”

Jason had nothing to answer that, knowing he didn’t have enough knowledge of Dick’s relationship with his father to put the blame on anyone. On principle, he would agree that Bruce was to blame, but he wasn’t about to say it. Especially because if it had brought bad things to Dick, it had brought so many good things to Old Gotham, Jason wouldn’t have felt comfortable judging Bruce for anything. He wouldn’t have been able to answer the  _ was hurting Dick Grayson worth saving Old Gotham _ question. He didn’t even want to.

“Anyway,” Bruce said, closing the roof as Jason drove the car in the property, “He’s going to want to talk about it.”

“It?”

“Whatever’s between you two,” Bruce mumbled. “I don’t know if you’re a talker, but Dick’s gonna want to talk it out.”

“Why?” Jason asked, parking the car where Bruce pointed.

Bruce looked at him, with anguish in his eyes. “If I knew, I would make it stop.”

Jason snorted. He could have guessed  _ Bruce _ wasn’t much of a talker, even if the little they had said had gone quite well. Whatever Bruce discussed, there was an edge to his voice, which came so naturally it sounded like it had always been there. Jason wondered if there was ever anyone he didn’t have that tone with. If there had ever been a person he could talk with freely.

“I guess I had it coming,” Jason said, mostly to himself. Bruce gave him a  _ look,  _ and Jason didn’t know if it was meant to be one that said  _ go on  _ or one that said  _ why do you think I want to know? _ , and so he said nothing. “How behind do you think they are?”

“Hopefully we lost them for good,” Bruce said as he walked out of the car.

Jason followed him, two or three steps behind. Jason had expected to sleep here, but with this turn of events, didn’t know where he fitted in the house anymore. With Dick seemingly angry at him, Bruce weirdly more casual than he had ever been, and worry for Roy gnawing at him, he just wanted one thing to feel normal. He should have insisted to go back to the dorms. At least he would have had  _ something  _ familiar.

Bruce walked up the stairs to the lobby, hoping everyone was soundly asleep and that he wouldn’t have to deal with anyone now that he was home. He checked his phone. There was a missed call from Oliver, accompanied with a text that read  _ Clark called us, thanks for ‘keeping us updated’  _ along with three texts from a most likely drunk Hal that said, respectively  _ I don’t even believe you _ ,  _ bruce what  _ and  _ diana is taking my pho _ . Bruce decided not to answer and to let Hal reflect on his behavior when he’d be sober and rested.

“Look who’s back,” a voice said as he entered the living room.

“Why does it sound like you’re mad at me?” Bruce asked Alfred, turning to watch his butler sitting at the table with a cup of tea and his tablet. “I just got home and  _ I  _ didn’t even do anything. Why are  _ you _ even up?”

“I have eyes and ears everywhere in this house, you know that.”

Alfred raised his eyes. The only emotion that showed clearly, like it often did, had nothing to do with anger and everything to do with worry. Bruce felt an indescribable need to cry, suddenly, and had to sit down the nearest chair instead, closing his eyes and pretending it was tiredness that had gotten to him. It wasn’t like anything was really  _ bad,  _ but sometimes the smallest of things suddenly felt like the weight of the world had been dropped on his shoulder, and he was getting old, and it was more and more difficult to hold it up. He gave himself a minute to recover, to grown back his spine. He felt someone enter the living room and opened his eyes. It was Tim, in pajamas, tip toeing on fluffy socks and rubbing his eyes like he’d just woken up. Anyone that knew him enough knew that if he was rubbing his eyes like this, it meant that he had never slept. Bruce felt a small pang of happiness, proud that he knew that. He and Tim had a lot in common, and insomnia was one of those things they knew by heart and had shared for years. The sight of Tim going out of his room, that everyone called  _ the cave  _ was something that Bruce was familiar with. Something that had always warmed his heart, because it was a thing between them. Dick was a heavy sleeper and Damian was always exhausted at the end of the day, which meant the night belonged to the two of them.

Bruce and Tim looked at each other, both holding back. They almost moved and didn’t, Tim turning to Jason instead, putting a hand on his arm and then putting back against his side as if he had just done something forbidden.

“It’s good to know you’re safe,” Tim said, his voice a bit strangled. He was embarrassed, Bruce could see it from there.

Jason didn’t, not knowing how to read Tim just yet, and he just smiled at him, punching him in the shoulder lightly. “All thanks to you, Tim. I don’t even know how to thank you.”

Tim made a small hand gesture. “I just called Bruce. I didn’t do anything.”

“That’s already something none of us would have done,” Jason answered. “I insist. You saved Roy.”

“Don’t tell him,” Tim said with a chuckle. “He hates me.”

“Roy does not  _ hate  _ you,” Jason protested.

Tim just looked at him. Jason was lucky that the arrival of Clark and Dick exempted him from an answer. Jason moved to look at them. Dick was chatting with Clark quietly. They were probably expecting an empty house, too.

“How did you get here so fast?” Bruce asked, squinting at Clark.

“We sped up once we left town,” Clark answered with a half shrug, as if to say  _ you think I wouldn’t break the speed limit? _

It made Bruce laugh. “Right. So much for safety.”

“Tell me about it,” the professor answered. “What car can I get to go home?”

“You came all the way here to go back to Gotham right now?” Bruce asked. “In the middle of the night?”

“I was just here to make sure the drunk drivers were home safe,” Clark said. “I don’t want to intrude any further.”

“Sleep here,” Bruce said. They looked at each other, a silent conversation flowing between them in a few seconds. Bruce tried to tear his eyes away, not wanting to say anything more than a neutral  _ sleep here _ , knowing his eyes told another story. “Alfred, can you find Clark a room?”

Alfred got up, sighing  _ only _ a little. “Sure thing, Master Bruce.”

“Are you sure?” Clark asked again, taken aback by the butler or the proposition. Maybe both. “This really isn’t necessary.”

“I’d rather you’d take one of my beds than one of my cars,” Bruce deadpanned. “If that’s alright with you.”

Clark raised his eyebrows as Dick, Tim and Jason accidentally made synchronized faces, like the kind of grimaces little kids made seeing their parents kiss. Clark left the room, to the collective relief of everyone else.

“Care to show Jason his?” Bruce asked Dick, giving him the choice of talking to Jason or having him sleep somewhere else. He had about three different floors he could choose from, or his own bedroom. Bruce didn’t care about any of it.

Dick gave a sharp nod and left, Jason following with a small wave at Bruce that he regretted immediately.

Bruce got up and was left staring at Tim. There was another moment of silence between them, and Bruce opened his arms hesitantly, not trusting himself to speak and just hoping this would be enough for now. Tim didn’t hesitate. He threw himself against Bruce’s torso, arms going around his chest, hugging him as tight as he could. Bruce hadn’t taken his coat off yet, and did what he used to do when Tim had been younger and upset. He moved his arms to bury Tim inside his coat, closing it over the boy’s body, building him a small cocoon of warmth and safety. He felt Tim’s cheek pressed against his shirt, his son’s shoulders slowly relaxing, and put his chin on the top of his head. He was reminded again how easy it was to forget Tim was nothing but a kid that had been forced to grow up way too fast, who was easily hurt and who got tired of being strong sometimes. Tim had always been the nicest of the bunch. Bruce had often believed Tim cared too much to be comfortable in a family where showing it led to awkwardness, and he kept being proven wrong. Tim had no shame in the way he openly loved and cared for everyone, and it had saved the family from ridiculous conflicts and bitterness and resentment more times than any of them cared to count. This hug had been long overdue. Bruce wrapped his arms a bit tighter, terrified that Tim would just disappear if he didn’t hold on hard enough.

“I’m glad you’re all safe,” Tim said, his voice mumbled. “I don’t know what I would have done otherwise.”

Bruce knew any other person would have told him that he had to stop getting in such panicky states over nothing. That he would be fine. That they wouldn’t get hurt. That they would be here. But Bruce  _ knew _ , which was another thing Tim and he had in common, that there was no reassurance to be had in words when you knew what it felt to have everything one second and nothing the next. Bruce and Tim were worriers, always finding new things to anxiously stress about, ready for everything to fall apart with every step they took. Anxiety kept Tim from ever finding steady ground under his feet. Bruce would have liked being able to promise him it would go away.

He opened his arms again, Tim taking the clue to let go. Bruce put his palms on Tim’s cheeks, trying to say something good. He just smiled a little and ruffled his hair, making it messier than it already was. “Don’t ever change, Timmy.” Tim nodded a little. “Ever. Promise?”

“Promise,” Tim answered.

They high fived, and Bruce sent his son back to bed with the feeling of having done something right, for once. It wasn’t a familiar feeling. He was about to move to his room when he saw Titus, his and Damian’s dog, walk in the living room. Bruce pat his head and frowned, looking around.

“Come out of here, Dami.”

There was a silence that didn’t last long. “Why does Tim get an inside-the-coat hug and I didn’t even get a good night?”

Bruce rolled his eyes, but crouched when his youngest son got near. “Did you save a life tonight?”

“By not killing anyone, I kind of did.”

Bruce stared at Damian, who stared back, unbothered. “You’re really weird, you know?” Bruce asked, and he opened his arms again. It was easier with Damian, because he was younger, and also because he didn’t feel the adopted father inadequacy. Damian had been a blessing, as much as he’d been unexpected. He had been dropped on him on a summer morning with very few explanations as to where Talia had gone, but he had changed his life. In a good way. He tucked Damian inside his coat and got back up, laughing as his son smiled because he was suddenly  _ tall _ . “Let’s get you back to bed.”

He walked up the stairs to Damian’s room, Titus following them both, wagging his tail happily. Damian didn’t let go of his father’s neck until he was tucked into bed and Bruce was crouching over him, desperately trying to get his body back. Titus saved him, jumping next to Damian and moving the boy’s interest from his father to his pet.

“Good night, baby bat,” Bruce whispered, using Dick’s nickname every time he wanted to be affectionate. Damian  _ loved  _ being called baby bat.

“Good night, batdad,” Damian answered very seriously.

Bruce laughed and left the room, a smile on his face. He almost ran directly into Clark, who seemed to be lurking in the hallway.

“I wasn’t lurking in the hallway,” the man blurted out.

Bruce squinted at him. “What were you doing?”

“Looking for the bathroom,” he answered, clearing his throat. “It’s easy to get lost in here.”

Bruce nodded and pointed behind Clark. “End of the hallway, on your right.”

Clark thanked him and started walking this way, looking around with interest, as most people did in the manor. He stopped and turned around right before Bruce disappeared at the other side of the hallway.

“Hey, Bruce?”

The man turned to him, raising his head. “What?”

“Is there really a huge equipped cave under the house? Like, is it true?”

“Where did you hear this?” Bruce asked, a barely contained smile on his lips.

Clark shrugged. “They mentioned it in an article in last week’s newspaper. They mention it every time, actually,” Clark said with a frown. “Not that I check,” he added quickly, and grimaced. “Or that I read stuff about you in newspaper. It was just there.  _ Anyway _ . Is it true?”

“Yes.”

“What’s in there?”

Bruce looked at him thoughtfully. “A swimming pool filled with hundred dollar bills.”

Clark snorted. “Right. I was wondering where it was.”

“Now you know.”

“Now I know,” Clark repeated, biting his lower lip. “Thank you for the room,” he added, because he didn’t feel like ending the conversation now. Bruce was doing it again, that thing where he managed to make the atmosphere so emotionally charged Clark wanted nothing but to go to him and pin him against the wall. “I’m glad I accompanied you tonight. Even if I kind of forced myself on you.”

Bruce was facing him completely now. They still stood far away from each other, and Bruce took a step forward, giving what he wanted to be a casual shrug. “That trick with the door was kind of impressive. I’m glad you came.”

Clark answered with an honest smile, running his hand through his hair. “I kind of impressed myself there.” He took a little step forward, scared to relive the awfulness of the kiss they had shared previously. He had said he wouldn’t do it again, and he would keep his word, even if he was really sad about it. Bruce didn’t look like he was going to start anything anytime soon, even if it was kind of clear he wanted to. “But really, all credit goes to your car.”

“Which wasn’t even damaged in the process,” Bruce noted. “You outdid yourself.”

“I couldn’t have paid for the repair,” Clark answered. “I was under pressure.”

Bruce took another step forward, walking past Damian’s room again, just two or three small steps away from Clark. It was getting hard to ignore Clark’s lip-biting, and harder to ignore the obvious way Clark’s body was voluntarily held back, like it was taking a physical effort to keep it in place. Bruce wanted to tell him that he didn’t have to. He was too sober not to be nervous, but he was also sober enough to know that if this didn’t happen now, it would happen another time. He was tragically, fatally and inevitably attracted to Clark Kent, and he doubted a good night’s sleep would make it go away. Something in the mix of his pretty eyes and his stubbornness and the unabashed way he held himself had stricken a chord inside Bruce.

“Pressure is good,” Bruce said. He stayed silent for a second, and decided to change the subject. “You’re not missing Metropolis too much?”

Clark shook his head. “A bit, but I’ve found other things of interest in Gotham.”

“Did you?” Bruce answered.

Clark cross his arms on his chest. “ _ Uh uh _ ,” he said, nodding a little. They looked at each other in excruciating silence.

“Well, you’re leaving in a few months anyway,” Bruce said, clearing his throat. “Don’t find too much interest in Gotham.”

“You wouldn’t want me to stay now, would you?”

“Gotta keep things interesting,” Bruce answered, and he reached out to grab Clark’s belt. Clark, not expecting it, stumbled on his way forward, looking in Bruce’s eyes like he had just seen the face of God. Bruce hesitated two more seconds, fixing his eyes on Clark’s lips, licking his. He finally gave in, tilting his head with a small smile. He picked the favorite  _ kissing Clark  _ scenario he had made up in his head those past few days and decided to make it happen. He let the man’s belt go to slip his fingers on his lower back, keeping him here as he moved his other hand to the base of Clark’s hair, playing with the little curls against his skin. He felt Clark’s hands climb up his back and brought the man’s face closer, kissing him like he had waited years for it.

Clark’s moment of surprise had disappeared pretty quickly, and he reacted almost immediately to the kiss, gripping Bruce’s shirt. He slipped his tongue in Bruce’s mouth, grazing his, enjoying the newness of the feeling. Bruce moved his head, not letting him go, and soon enough Clark managed to have what he wanted. He moved to slam Bruce’s back into the wall, one hand next to his head and the other on his hip. Bruce’s grip on his hair tightened, bringing him close enough for their hips to  _ barely  _ touch.

They broke apart a minute after, Bruce’s head banging back on the wall as Clark took his breath. “Let me take you out on a date.”

Bruce stared at him like he had said the most offensive thing he had ever heard. “What?”

“Please,” Clark said. “I don’t want to be the next Hal Jordan.”

“Wow. Rude,” Bruce answered with a frown. “Both to me and to Hal.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Clark answered quickly as Bruce tried to move away from his grip. Clark put his second hand next to Bruce’s head, eyes fixed in his. “I don’t want to be that one teacher you slept with one time and then had to carefully avoid for the next six months.”

Bruce seemed to think it over. “We can sleep together and I can act like I usually act with you if you’d like it better.”

Clark made a face. “So ignore me  _ and _ make my life a living hell?”

“I mean,” Bruce said, laughing to himself. “Dating me is very much like this anyway.”

“Stop,” Clark answered.

“See? I’m already pissing you off,” Bruce said with a chuckle, which was strangely devoid of laughter.

Clark squinted at him. “You’re insecure.”

“Did you read that next to that article about my underground cave?”

They stared at each other. Clark decided to find another approach, and smiled peacefully. “I find it endearing that you do your best to piss me off.”

“We’re not doing this,” Bruce answered, ducking to free himself from Clark’s stare, dodging his arm. He put his shirt back correctly in his pants and crossed his arms. “Give me one good reason as for why I should agree to going on a date with you.”

“Really,” Clark said. “I have great arguments, actually.”

Bruce stared at him.

“First of all, I have great hair that you will be allowed to touch whenever you want. I know you like my hair.”

“I do not like your hair,” Bruce answered. “Who said I liked your hair?”

“That article about your cave and insecurities.”

“Must be the reason why I hate journalists.”

Clark put his hand over his heart. “Low blow.” 

Bruce shook his head, trying to contain a smile. He forced himself to be serious. “Really, Clark, this is a bad idea. You won’t like me on a date. You’re just curious.” He clicked his tongue, taking a step back, this time. “Do yourself a favor.”

Clark shoved his hands in his pockets. “Prove me wrong.”

“You’re not giving up on this?” Bruce asked with a sigh. “At all?”

“Prove me wrong,” Clark repeated. “Tomorrow night. Make it the worst date of all time.”

Bruce snorted. He felt like telling him the last time he had been on an actual date, he had ended up puking at the corner of a street. Shortly after, he had passed out in the cab, and he had woken up the next morning in bed with no memory of the evening. He guessed he could probably do worse. Bruce Wayne could always do worse. “You asked for it,” Bruce finally answered.

Clark made a gesture of victory. “Can I get a good night kiss, then?”

“No,” Bruce answered. “Wouldn’t want you to enjoy yourself,” he said as he turned around to left. He didn’t leave time for Clark to find another witty comeback and climbed up the stairs to his floor. He caught himself stroking his lip with his thumb, right where Clark had bit him minutes ago and shoved his hand in his pocket. This was  _ not  _ how he wanted things to go. He opened his door and crashed on his bed, looking at the ceiling. He regretted not giving Clark a good night kiss.

***

Someone knocked on Tim’s door and he jumped, surprised. He rolled his desk chair to the door, opening it with a frown. Jason was standing there awkwardly, with a small smile and a glass of coke.

Tim got up opening the door completely. “Jason! You okay?”

“I’m cool,” Jason answered, walking in. Tim’s room was completely different from Dick’s. It was  _ messy _ , but Jason was almost entirely sure it was because Tim had so much  _ stuff  _ it just didn’t fit anywhere. Books, clothes, shoes,  _ three  _ telescopes, more books, DVDs, the two screens on his desk were buried under various things.

“Sorry for the mess,” Tim said, rubbing his head.

Jason smiled at him. “It’s cool. It’s actually quite in order for the amount of things you have.”

“I just never throw anything away.”

“I don’t either,” Jason answered. He had significantly less stuff, but he kept most of what he found or got for himself. He had grown up with everything being too valuable for him to even consider wasting or throwing it away. He had kept that habit. He realized that out of all the normal things he wanted for this evening, Tim was the one person that got closest to the feeling. Tim was comfortable. Tim was, strangely, familiar. Tim was safe. “You’re lucky your room’s that big,” he added with a wink.

Tim chuckled, embarrassed. “What did you want?”

“I just wanted to thank you. Again. And to make sure  _ you  _ were okay.”

“Me?” Tim answered, frowning again. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Not about the Roy thing,” Jason said. He sat down on Tim’s desk chair, rolling it across the room. Tim decided to sit down on his bed, looking uncomfortable. “Before that.”

Tim avoided looking at Jason. “How did it go with Dick?”

“I don’t want to talk about Dick,” Jason answered, trying to find a nicer way to say what he was trying to get across. “I wanted to thank you for being cool with it earlier. For leaving when you didn’t have to. It mustn’t have been nice.”

“It wasn’t,” Tim said.

Jason sighed, and rolled his chair to Tim. “I really like you, Tim. You’re a great guy.”

“Please,” Tim answered. “Don’t give me the awkward pity speech.”

Jason pinched his lips. “I’d rather not, actually.”

“It’s cool,” Tim said, looking at Jason again. “I’m cool. I wasn’t even that serious about it.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean... You’re cool,” Tim tried to explain, playing with his fingers. “But it’s good you and Dick like each other. I’m not the kind of fun you’re looking for.”

Jason frowned. “Eh now. No more putting yourself down. You’re great. I mean it. I don’t make compliments I don’t believe in.”

Tim blushed. He made a little pile of the books that were sprayed on his bed to get busy. “Have you talked to Dick?”

“No,” Jason answered, glad the other topic was closed. “He showed me a room right next to yours and climbed back up without a word.”

“Ooooooh,” Tim said, raising his eyebrows. “You’re in trouble. Dick  _ always _ wants to talk. What did you do to bring the silent treatment upon yourself?”

Jason laughed, sitting back on the chair, hands behind his head. “I kissed him to get to his keys.”

“Did you succeed?”

“No. He caught me almost immediately.” Tim smiled like he was proud. “Would that be it?”

Tim frowned, thoughtful. “That sounds like overreacting. I think it’s something else.”

There was a silence as they both got lost in thoughts. Jason was revisiting everything he had done tonight that might have bothered Dick. It was unfortunate, he thought, that he would be sitting here wondering about his possible mistakes instead of going back to the balcony he had wanted to stay on. He wasn’t even mad at Roy, knowing his best friend would have never purposely fucked up his evening.  _ Did I ruin your date?  _ Roy had asked him when it’d been just the two of them, Jason crouching over him worryingly even if Lee had told them that he’d be fine.  _ I’ll have another date _ , Jason had answered, making sure there wasn’t a cell in Roy that believed he might have another thing to blame himself for. Then it hit him.

“Tim.”

“Yeah?”

“Is Dick easily jealous?”

Tim considered. “I wouldn’t say jealous. I’d say a mix between possessive and insecure.”

“It’s Roy,” Jason said like he’d win something, sitting up. “He’s mad at me because of how close I was to Roy tonight.”

Tim frowned at him unimpressively. “How close were you to Roy tonight?”

Jason coughed and got up. “He needed comfort. He’s my best friend.”

Tim snorted. “Yeah. That’s definitely what Dick’s mad about.”

“Thanks Tim,” Jason said as he walked out quickly. “You’re the best.”

“Thanks,” Tim answered dryly as Jason closed the door behind him.

Jason ran up the stairs, thinking that if that was only that Dick was mad about, then there was no way he was sleeping in a guest room tonight. It was getting late anyway, and he guessed that if Dick was tired, then he would be more adamant to forgive him. Dick didn’t strike Jason as a grumpy tired kind of guy. He knocked on his door, reminding himself to whisper, as Bruce was probably still awake right next to them. Dick opened after a long while, wearing nothing but sweatpants.

“Were you sleeping?”

“No,” Dick answered.

He didn’t say anything else. Jason looked at him. “Where did you get those abs?”

“Gymnastics.”

“Impressive.”

“I know.”

Jason sighed. “Is it Roy you’re mad about? Or is it something else? We really had something going.”

“Something going?” Dick repeated loudly. He put his hand on his mouth and removed it again a minute after, talking much more quietly. “Maybe it’s that manipulative kiss and then hand holding with your dying buddy.”

Jason took a step back, frowning. He wouldn’t have taken Dick for a vicious guy, and he was taken aback by the aggressiveness in his words. Jason’s hurt seem to register in Dick’s eyes a second too late and he opened his mouth and closed it again.

“Fuck. Jason, I’m sorry. That’s not…” He closed his eyes, reopened them. “I’m sorry. Roy is lucky to have you.”

Jason looked at him doubtfully, gaining his composure back. “What’s your problem? Why do you have to be hot and cold like this?”

Dick grabbed Jason and dragged him inside his room so they wouldn’t have to talk in the hallway anymore. He didn’t let go of him, keeping his hand on Jason’s wrist, absently caressing the skin there.

“I’m actually not good at this,” Dick said, rubbing his eyes with his other hand. “Stop looking at me,” he insisted, like he was just fully realizing he was half naked. He wasn’t good at  _ this  _ either. “I’m sorry. I just thought… I thought maybe there was something else with Roy. And I knew you were worried, and I know you two are close, I just… It felt shitty for a second. And then you didn’t seem to make any move in my direction either, and I just thought you had changed your mind, or that you didn’t care anymore. That maybe it was just the alcohol.”

“Eh,” Jason answered, cutting him short. With his free hand, he grabbed Dick’s other wrist carefully, trying to judge where the man’s comfortableness ended. “Dickie. Was it alcohol when we had lunch together every week?” Dick just looked at him. “Was it alcohol that made me pretend I needed help in criminology just so you would pay a bit more attention to me?” Dick just snorted. “Was it alcohol that made me come here?” Dick stayed still. “Well? Was it?” Dick shook his head.  _ No _ . “It wasn’t. I really like you,” Jason said, because he was good with words. Better than any Wayne in the house, anyway. “Alright.” Dick opened his mouth to say  _ but _ . “No but. If I like you, and you like me…” Jason waited for Dick to shake his head yes, which, thankfully, he did. “Then what’s the problem?”

“There’s no problem,” Dick answered with a little pout.

“Cool,” Jason said, and he got closer, close enough to feel Dick’s breath on his skin. He let Dick make the first step, and soon they were kissing, gently, like they should have hours ago. Dick moved to put his arms around Jason’s shoulder, making the kiss a bit more passionate. Jason linked his hands right above Dick’s butt, a smile on his lips as he moved them against Dick’s. “Cool,” he repeated when they separated. “Can I sleep here, or do I go back to my sad guest room?”

Dick pushed him away playfully. “Stay.”

Jason gave him a smile and moved around the bed, sitting on it joyfully. “Much more comfortable than the dorms.”

“Guess Bruce’s not paying them enough,” Dick said as he picked up a shirt from his wardrobe. He put it on and blushed a little as he looked back at Jason. “Do you mind if…?” He pointed at the shirt, feeling foolish for asking permission  _ not  _ to sleep half naked with Jason just yet.

“All cool,” Jason answered, lying down experimentally.

The mattress shifted under Dick’s weight. Jason glared at Dick as he moved under the cover, wondering if the man was a big or a little spoon, or nothing at all. Although he was a really good kisser, he still sounded very shy about anything else, which Jason found endearing. And interesting, as a future idea.

Dick opened his arms to Jason, who comfortably settled between them. Jason wasn’t used to being the little spoon, but he found that it was very comfortable when it was with Dick, who was a bit taller than him and  _ very  _ good at hugs. Jason turned off the lights and giggled as Dick’s hand slipped under his shirt.

“So you get to do this and I don’t?” Jason whispered.

He felt more than heard Dick laugh behind him, and shivered as Dick kissed him on the shoulder. “Next time,” Dick said.

Jason pulled Dick’s hand to his mouth and kissed his knuckles. It was more intimate than he would have liked, but Dick didn’t seem to mind, and so he said nothing else but those two little words that made him giddy and maybe foolishly warm.  _ Next time _ . 


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YIKES I'M SO LATE WITH THIS!!! but this is a cute chapter if you forget the painful angst around the middle. sorry  
> thank you len and thank you hummy as per usual and i love y'all for commenting and being soooo nice to me stay awesome <3

Dick was woken up by music that was way too loud for how early it was. He forgot for a second that Jason was in bed with him. They had separated during the night, Dick rolling on his side of the bed in his sleep. As he reached for what was causing all that noise, he almost elbowed Jason in the face. He narrowly missed him because Jason moved to get his phone. He turned the alarm off and put his phone back on the bedside table, rolling around to look at Dick. They stared at each other for a second, before Dick wiggled to get closer to Jason, kissing him on the corner of his mouth.

“It’s 5 am,” Dick whispered.

“So?” Jason asked, rubbing his eyes, putting his hand on Dick’s hip.

“ _ Five am _ ,” Dick repeated. “In the morning. Five. Ante meridiem.”

Jason snorted. “Talk Latin to me.” 

“Why did you just make me listen to  _ every breath you take _ at 5am on a Sunday?”

“I like this song. And I have to work,” Jason answered, yawning. He pushed Dick on his back slowly, moving to put his head on the man’s torso. Dick put his arm around him, and Jason instantly decided this had been a bad idea. He still had to get up and go study, but if Dick kept being so comfortable, this was  _ never _ going to happen. “Study. For the very class you’re teaching tomorrow morning, might I add.”

Dick sighed. “But we slept so  _ little _ .”

“Go back to sleep, then,” Jason said, raising his head to look at Dick. “After all,  _ you  _ don’t have to work.”

There was a silence as Dick held Jason tighter, Jason wrapping his arm against Dick’s torso, the two of them staying like this, unmoving. Jason felt himself fall back asleep and groaned against Dick, sitting up.

“I really have to study.”

Dick sighed. “I’m getting up with you.”

“You don’t have to,” Jason said softly, looking at Dick’s sleepy face. “It’s Sunday. You’re right. You should get some rest.”

“What about you?”

“I’m used to it,” Jason answered, shrugging casually as he tried to brush off the unease. He didn’t want to tell Dick the story of how when surviving whatever the cost was the only way to make it, every minute of sleep felt like a minute too much, like a minute wasted when something more useful could’ve been done. “I don’t need that much sleep,” he just ended lamely.

Dick looked at him, with his serious eyes and his little frowny face, like he was trying to find something that would make everything better. He wanted to say  _ are you sure _ , or maybe  _ just take today off  _ or maybe  _ five more minutes _ , but he understood where Jason was coming from, and Jason had to get good grades, and five more minutes of sleep wouldn’t mean anything to Jason. And so he just sat up, too, trying as he often did when he had to wake up early, to remember what it was to be at the circus and be up before dawn every morning. The life Bruce had given him had allowed him the luxury of forgetting what that kind of hardship felt like, and he felt grateful. He didn’t always – sometimes he felt like he would give up on Bruce in a second if it meant getting back his parents and his circus and his future in gymnastics and his animals, but he always went back to his basic emotion about this, which was love and respect and admiration and infinite, infinite gratitude for the man he called  _ father _ . He wished Jason could have that, too.

“Well then,” Dick said, sitting up next to Jason. “Let’s move. No one is up yet. I’ll make you breakfast while you pretend you’re good at criminal thought.”

“I am excellent in every class I take,” Jason retorted, grabbing a pillow to throw it at Dick’s face. Dick laughed and then shushed himself, a giant smile cutting his face in two. Jason looked at him for a second, mirroring his fond smile. “I can’t believe I’m living every student in Gotham U’s dream. I’m having a  _ thing  _ with Bruce Wayne’s TA.”

“I think half of those students would like to have a thing with Bruce Wayne more than his TA.”

“Good point,” Jason said. A second later, he got the pillow he had just thrown back in his face and laughed, grabbing Dick’s arm before the man left the bed. He pulled and Dick turned around as he left the bed, almost falling and catching himself at the last moment, half lying on the bed, half out of it. “But it’s you I want to be with,” Jason whispered against Dick’s lip, giving him the first kiss of the morning. Dick kissed back, which was miraculous and wonderful and still a bit frightening.

Dick made a face as he pulled back. “You laugh, but this actually happened once.”

“What?”

“Some girl who showed a lot of interest in me during my first year as a TA. She looked  _ head over heels _ . Asked me out on a date, and everything.” Dick looked thoughtful. “We’re sitting at the restaurant, and 10 minutes in, she leans in, all seductive and everything, and she just says  _ ‘can I be honest with you?’ _ , so of course I’m like, sure, go ahead, please. And she grabs my hand and she just…” Dick took a pause, a mix of embarrassment and bewilderment on his face. “She just nods slightly and goes,  _ ‘can you introduce me to Bruce? He’s the one I’m really after.’ _ ” Jason put his hand over his mouth, shaking with laughter. Dick scoffed and left the bed, shaking his head. “It was awful. I went home early, my dad was like  _ so how was it _ , and I just looked at him, I was so  _ mad _ ,” he said, laughing with Jason now. “I was so angry, Bruce spent the entire evening trying to work out what he had done wrong. In the end I explained to him what happened and he found it so funny I swore I would never take one of his students on a date again.”

Jason raised one eyebrow. “How has that worked out for you?”

“Terribly, as you might have noticed,” Dick answered with a smirk.

Jason got out of bed, smiling, wondering where this was going. He sent a quick text to Roy as Dick threw him another shirt.  _ Tell me when you’re up and I can come get you.  _ He changed quickly and followed Dick out of his room, walking down the stairs silently.

“Did you really have to be up so early to study, though?” Dick asked when they reached the kitchen.

Jason glared at him, leaning against the fridge as Dick pulled out what he wanted for breakfast. “You can still go and sleep. I just need to start working early so I don’t lose study time when it’s time to get Roy. He’ll probably want company, and I can’t tell him my midterms matter more than his well being, so,” Jason shrugged. “Gotta make time.”

Dick looked at Jason, holding a milk bottle absently, half his body in the refrigerator. “You’re really amazing, you know?”

Jason cleared his throat, suddenly uncomfortable. He took a step forward and kissed Dick on the cheek, then at the corner of his lips, and he stopped there, right over Dick’s mouth. “What chapter is the midterm on?”

“Right,” Dick answered with a scoff. “You’re blocking the access to the fridge,” he said, pushing Jason away after he gave him a light kiss.

Jason sat down at the table, looking around. It was weird, he thought, how cold and big this giant house could have been, and yet how easy it was to feel at home in it. He wondered if they had worked hard to make it feel that way, or if it was just the love between all of them that made the house so warm.

The arrival of Tim cut both Jason and Dick’s train of thoughts, and they turned around as he dragged his feet in the kitchen. He seemed as surprised to see them as they were.

“Why up so early?” Jason asked, frowning.

Tim was holding a book in his hand and looked kind of confused and lost at the same time, his eyes red, probably because of an evident lack of sleep. “I’m not up.” Jason gave him a look that was his face’s equivalent of a simple  _? _ . “I mean, I’m up,” Tim said again, putting his book down to rub his eyes. “I just couldn’t sleep two hours ago so I started a new book, and now I’m nearly at the end and I have to finish it.”

Dick sighed loudly as he pressed the coffee machine button. “We told you to stop doing that, Tim.”

“I’m not going to just lie there in bed and do nothing,” Tim protested, sitting down next to Jason. “Usually, a book makes me sleepy enough that I can fall asleep. But not this time. I need to pick duller books.”

Jason reached for the big volume, turning it around so he could read the cover. “ _ The Goldfinch. _ I’ve read that. It’s really good.”

Tim smiled at him. “It’s captivating.”

“I know,” Jason said enthusiastically. One of his main goals in life was to be able to afford a huge library inside his house, and also to have a job that would give him time to read. It was always one of the things he missed the most, having time to read. “All that part in Vegas, with Boris, it killed me.”

Dick looked at the two of them with a little smile, moving to get cups. “You should pick smaller books, then, Tim.”

Tim threw his hands in the air. “If I pick smaller books, even if they suck, I’m just like  _ ok, almost done, I can finish it tonight _ , and then as spend just as much time reading it. With big books, at least I can realistically tell myself I can go to sleep cause I’m never going to finish it in one go.”

“How has that worked out for you so far?” Dick asked.

Tim stared at him. “I’m just going to get water and go back to my room.”

Jason ruffled the boy’s hair, giving him his book back. “The last thirty pages are the  _ worst _ .”

“Don’t spoil me!” Tim said, getting the water he had come for. “I’ll see you guys in the afternoon,” he finished with a little wave.

“He’s really endearing,” Jason commented as he watched Tim leave in the hallway. “Like a cute puppy.”

Dick gave him a cup of coffee. “First my father, now my brother?”

Jason started laughing. “You know damn well if I wanted your brother, I could have had him.” Dick made a face, one that made it clear  _ that  _ wasn’t funny. Jason reached for his hand as he sat in front of him on the table and brought it to his lips, kissing it with a wink. “Speaking of which. Are you and…” Jason made a small pause. “Mr. Wayne going to be okay?”

“You can call him Bruce,” Dick said, ignoring the question.

“Seriously,” Jason insisted. “It’s kind of my fault, indirectly, and I’d rather not ruin your relationship with your father.”

An empty smile appeared on Dick’s face, his eyes seeming far, far away from the kitchen, as if the sheer mention of his relationship with his father took him to places no one could ever reach him. “It’s not your fault,” Dick said vaguely, blowing cold air on his coffee. “I bet he’s not even mad at you. That car ride must have been  _ swell _ .” Jason didn’t answer, and Dick chuckled, like he didn’t need any confirmation. “He’s just looking for something or someone to be mad at. It happens.” Jason still said nothing, unsure of where the limits were, knowing nothing of Bruce but the intense admiration he had for him. Jason felt like this wasn’t the time for him to start defending Bruce. “We’ll be fine. Eventually,” Dick continued, looking somewhere above Jason’s shoulder. “I just want him to apologize.”

It was a lie, and Jason noticed. There was a sadness in Dick’s eyes that made Jason think that what have looked like a ridiculous fight between a son and his father ran deeper than that, and that it had been the spark to a much more devastating fire. “Fair,” Jason answered, not really knowing what else to say. “Hope it works out,” he just added, grimacing as Dick gave him an unimpressed glare, as if to say  _ I know where you stand _ . They both decided to change the subject, and moved to the living room to retrieve Jason’s bag and start studying. Dick went back up to get his computer, and they both sat down next to each other, weirdly comfortable, as if they didn’t need much else to be satisfied but a bit of silence and the ease of being together.

***

Bruce woke up weirdly rested. He was suspicious of any day where he woke up feeling good, knowing it usually meant karma would get him at the corner, right when he would get used to having a nice day. He got out of bed and crouched in front of the bathroom’s door, trying to see through the lock if Dick was in there. Or Jason. He felt like it would be kind of awkward to face Jason in the bathroom. The lights were turned off and he opened the door slowly, letting out a relieved breath when he realized he was alone. He closed the door behind him and locked it, not taking any chances. It was early, and if Jason wasn’t an early bird, then Dick and he were  _ definitely  _ still asleep. Bruce had had the time to do a little research before sleeping. He had been  _ certain  _ the name reminded him of someone, and he had been right. Looking around on his computer, he had found that Jason Todd was this year’s Wayne scholarship’s winner. Bruce, even if still angry at Dick, was always protective of his son, but he had been more than pleasantly surprised about this turn of event. Bruce trusted Jason Todd. Jason Todd was a good kid. He couldn’t be entirely sure, but he was ready to bet on it. Jason Todd could stay.

Bruce’s way of picking the scholarship kid was something people usually didn’t believe in. They couldn’t actually picture Bruce Wayne, this ex-disaster, spoiled kid turned benevolent professor, sitting at his desk for hours, reading every single application alone, making a selection through the long essays he requested. But every year, it was what he was most eager for. It was always one of the best things about doing his job. He loved that part. It always bugged him that he couldn’t pick as many students as he wanted, but there were too many things in his way. He remembered asking the dean and the mayor for more room for scholarship students at Gotham U, and the mayor angrily answering him that if he could  _ stop bothering them and open his own damn university, it would be great _ . Bruce agreed. It  _ would  _ be great. It would be in Old Gotham and it would be cheap and he would make it the best university of the country. That hadn’t happened yet, but Bruce wasn’t losing hope. He was in a constant battle to improve things on that side. In the meantime, one of the things he  _ could _ do was read all those applications and pick the best ones, the hard working kids whose only fault was not having been born lucky , the kids who were doing their best to win with nothing but losing cards. Jason Todd had been one of them. One of them most brilliant applications he had ever gotten, he had realized as he reread it. He had meant to find him to ask if he could use it as reference during class, and had never gotten around to doing it. And now Jason Todd was in his living room, casually brilliant and charming and brave and kind, and Bruce didn’t know how to feel about it. He was just glad that, even if it was just temporary, he had chosen Dick and Tim to be around. Bruce kept being tragically reminded that it could have been the other way around, that Dick could have been one of those desperate applicants.

Bruce shook the thoughts off, really not trying to focus on his son right now, and took a long, burning shower, thinking of the rest of his day. He didn’t have a lot of things to do for tomorrow’s class, considering he always planned ahead, but he still had to deal with Clark Kent, and get Jason back home, and go see Roy, and he really wanted to watch cartoons with Damian. He walked out of the shower and got dressed quickly, his hair still damp as he opened Damian’s door slowly, just to check if the boy was awake. He was, sitting on the floor and making gun noises as he played with Legos.

“Hey, champ,” Bruce said, walking in. “Up already?”

“It’s 8am,” Damian answered. Titus was still sleeping on the bed, curled up next to the pillows. “Of course I’m up.”

Bruce shook his head. “You know you can be nice, sometimes? You don’t always have to be so aggressive,” he said, sitting down in front of Damian. “It’s not necessary.”

“I learned from the best,” Damian said. He grabbed a cowboy Lego and pointed it at his father. “Pew pew pew,” he went, a little smile on his face like he knew exactly what he was doing. He moved the tiny gun around. “ _ Bang. Bang. Bang. _ ”

Bruce looked at his son, frowning a little. “Stop.”

“Bang,” Damian said again. He had time to say another  _ Ba-  _ before Bruce gripped the cowboy, almost crushing the boy’s finger at the same time. Damian let go of it and Bruce threw it across the room. “Bang,” Damian just said.

“Stop,” Bruce repeated, getting up, his tone menacing. “You know I hate that, and you know why. So why do you do it?”

Damian shrugged and walked to his dismantled cowboy, putting the pieces back together. “Where’s my mother?”

“You’re going to do this now?” Bruce asked, rubbing his eyes. “At 8 AM on a Sunday?”

“Where is she?”

Bruce crouched back in front of Damian, worry in his eyes as he made his son look at him. “Damian, what’s going on?”

“If you don’t tell me I’ll go look myself.”

“You’re too young for this,” Bruce answered. “You can’t even reach high enough to open the main door.” Damian seemed to think this over. “We can talk about this later,” Bruce said, a grimace on his face. “I’m busy today, I don’t know when we can find the time. I wanted us to watch a movie tonight.”

“I don’t care about stupid movies,” Damian said, and ran to his bed, sitting next to Titus, his back to Bruce.

Bruce had nothing to add and turned around, kind of exhausted that his sons were taking turns getting pissed at things out of his control. He walked down the stairs to the living room, slowing in front of Tim’s room so he wouldn’t make too much noise and wake him up. When he reached the kitchen, Dick and Alfred were sitting next to each other, hunched over a small pile of paper.

“What’s that?” Bruce asked, trying to see over their shoulders.

Alfred raised his eyebrows and got out of the way, and out of the kitchen, as if he knew nothing good was going to come from this question. Dick’s shoulder tensed up and he grabbed the handful of papers, putting them back in the envelope it had come in.

“It’s nothing,” Dick said, crossing his arms on his chest. “Can we talk?”

“Where’s Jason?”

“Studying in the living room.”

Bruce nodded. “I need coffee.”

“Can we talk?” Dick asked again. Bruce moved, hitting the coffee machine silently. “You know you have to  _ press  _ the button, and then it’ll work. Hitting it won’t achieve much.”

“I’m hitting the button.”

“You’re beating it up.”

They stayed silent as Bruce got annoyed at the machine. He struggled but finally made it work, looking at the coffee falling in the cup with a yawn. He grabbed the full cup and sat down at the table, reaching for sugar and cream, pouring a significant amount in his coffee, which was nowhere near black anymore.

“What am I apologizing for this time?” Bruce just said, glaring at Dick.

Dick clicked his tongue, grabbing the top of a chair to help him stay still. “That’s not how it works. You know that. I want us to talk it out.”

“Let’s start with: why did you lie to me?”

“Because I was protecting Jason, and I didn’t think worrying you was necessary,” Dick answered immediately, gripping the chair tighter. He didn’t give Bruce the opportunity to answer. “Next: why do you think you can still insult me with no consequences, and why do you take advantage of the fact I’ll always forgive you to be rude and make no effort?”

Bruce stared at him. “Saves me the trouble,” he deadpanned.

“No,” Dick answered, pointing at him. “No. You’re not doing this again. I’ve had enough of your sarcasm. You don’t get to treat me like shit, and realize it too late, and then come running to me with your sad face and puppy eyes. You apologize like you mean it now, or you don’t. At all. Ever again.”

Bruce’s heart accelerated in his chest. He knew this was serious. There was something in Dick’s eyes, a panic that was like a huge warning sign.  _ I mean it this time. Don’t make me do this _ . A litany in the boy’s blue eyes.  _ Don’t make me do this. Don’t make me do this. Don’t make me hurt you.  _ Dick knew how to hit him where it stung, he had always known. Most of the time Bruce let him, because he felt he deserved it. Most of the time, they made up soon after, never staying mad at each other too long. But this felt different. Dick’s blazing anger felt like an ultimatum, like a last call to reason before the end. The end of what, Bruce didn’t know, but he was sure he wouldn’t like it. And yet. And yet he was looking at Dick, getting increasingly angry, too, wanting nothing else but to yell  _ I was worried! I was worried! The last time someone I loved was in crime alley they died! I was worried and you lied to me!,  _ and sipping his coffee like he was unattainable. He was aware of how ridiculous he looked, the embodiment of disdain, a wall Dick could see through so easily it was embarrassing he even put it up.

“Is this a threat?” Bruce asked.

Dick took a breath. “Maybe.”

Bruce tried to think fast, to calculate which threat he could take and which he couldn’t. Tried to picture how serious his son was. “What are you gonna do?” Bruce laughed, knowing it was a mistake, a voice in his head telling him to just  _ apologize for once in his life _ , to get it out of his system and stop self-destructing. “Leave? Never come back?”

There was an awfully long silence, which started with Bruce shaking his head at Dick, until he realized Dick was not moving, not even a little, his eyes sad as he looked at his father. The moment turned electric, Bruce pushing his cup of coffee away, slowly rising from his seat.

His voice was a strangled whisper. “You’re not leaving, are you?”

“What if I am?” Dick asked. “Will you apologize then? Will you tell me to stay? Promise you’re going to make efforts and then just forget about it?”

Bruce had not expected that, and tried to rearrange the steel around his heart so that he could take the blow. It didn’t work fast enough, and he cleared his throat, confused and taken aback.

“You want to leave?”

“I’ve been wanting to leave for years, dad,” Dick said, his voice a whisper too now. “But I never could. I never could, because I was too worried about you, and…” Bruce’s look broke his heart, and he closed his mouth.

“And?” Bruce repeated, angry again, furious that his own son could do that to him, furious that he was  _ such  _ a burden. “ _ And? _ ”

Dick shook his head, grabbing the pile of paper back and throwing it between them. “And because I had two kids to take care of. Remember? Remember them? Tim and Damian? Do these name mean anything to you at all?”

Bruce closed his fingers into a fist and punched the table, cracking the skin of his knuckles open. “Don’t.” His breathing was louder now. He shook his head, just repeating this simple word, full of anger and sadness and hurt. “Don’t.”

“Don’t  _ what? _ ” Dick answered with a shrug. “You want me to stop? You want me to coddle you some more? Like I haven’t done that enough already?” Bruce stayed pointedly silent, his hand bleeding over the table. Dick noticed Alfred in the door that led to the living room, the butler half in and half out, as if he couldn’t decide if he should stop the fight or let it unfold. Dick didn’t leave him enough time to decide. “Did you know that Tim,  _ Tim _ , has stopped going to half his classes lately? Because he’s either sleeping, or too anxious to go, or he just feels like walking around is a better alternative to focusing on something like his studies?” Bruce opened his mouth, and Dick shut him up. “No. Let me finish. Did you know that Damian’s been having trouble at school? That his classmates keep bothering him about his mother?” Something in Bruce’s eyes flickered, like a sudden understanding. “That his teachers have asked for you to come a million times, but you never listen long enough to know that? Did you know that I’ve been going to the parents’ conferences for years in your place, and that I only have to ask him what’s wrong for him to get his little voice, and tell me that if only he knew where his mother was, then maybe he could answer those kids instead of being bullied every day and getting increasingly more violent because of it?”

Dick had unconsciously raised his voice, and he seemed to only realize it when he was done speaking, silence resonating in the kitchen. Bruce was looking at him, horror in his eyes slowly hardening to anger again. Dick saw the change in Bruce’s face and knew they both had lost. He knew Bruce, vexed and angry and hurt, would never give in to him. He could see it from here. Bruce grabbed the papers and glared at them, only to throw them back to him.  

“You’re leaving for Europe?”

“I’m going to apply for a master’s degree in Switzerland,” Dick said.

“You’re going to Zurich,” Bruce said, as if he was waiting for Dick to tell him the entire conversation had been a joke.

“If they take me,” Dick answered. “It’s the best university in Europe. In a non-English speaking country,” he added, as if this would be of any help to Bruce’s distress.

Bruce opened his mouth and closed it, not knowing where to start, what to say. He shook his head. “So you don’t care anymore? You accuse me of all those things, but you’re leaving anyway. You don’t care?”

“I care,” Dick answered softly. “You know I care too much. If you’re still that bad when it’s time to go, I don’t know what I’ll do. In the meantime…” Dick shook his head again. “You better act like I’m right about to leave and do  _ better _ . Because there isn’t much that will stop me.” Dick turned around, not standing Bruce’s piercing eyes.

Bruce looked at him go. Something about seeing Dick’s turned back made him act irrationally, which wasn’t surprising or a first time. He grabbed his cup of coffee and went to hurl it through the door, hoping it would hit Dick close enough that he would reconsider, or that he would just stop, take it all back, go back in time and say something else. His arm got stuck in mid-air, something holding him back.

He looked at his hand, and saw his fingers wrapped under Alfred’s.

“If you really want to throw that cup,” Alfred said, clearly using all of his strength to hold Bruce in place, “You know I can’t stop you.” Bruce looked at him. “But if you do,” Alfred went on, speaking very slowly, as if he was making sure his words pierced through his protégé’s stubborn head, “You’re going to have to deal with me, next.” Bruce didn’t even hesitate one second. He put the cup down. “Good choice,” Alfred said, and he let him go, going back to the living room.

Bruce followed him, about to apologize, because he could apologize to Alfred. He walked in and his voice died on his lips. Jason, Clark, Tim and Damian were all standing around the table, looking all various degrees of upset and embarrassed. Alfred asked Damian what he wanted for breakfast.

“Bread,” the kid answered, weirdly calm, as if even he had understood this wasn’t the time to be complicated.

“Toasted?”

Damian nodded enthusiastically. Alfred smiled at him and walked back to the kitchen, going past Bruce as if he didn’t exist. Bruce looked at Tim, who avoided his eyes, cheeks burning. He looked at Damian next, with a bit of panic mixed with anguish. He wanted to protect his son. That’s what he wanted to do. He didn’t know how he managed to misunderstand everything, and how he could be so good at helping people he didn’t know but so bad at reading his own family. Damian, helpless facing his father’s stripped worry, bit his lip, as if unsure of what he was supposed to do. Bruce turned his head to Jason, who was just sitting here, his books opened all around him, his cup of coffee growing cold. There was restraint judgment in his eyes, the boy doing his best not to show too much, trying to stay neutral in a situation where it was clear he couldn’t side with Bruce. Finally, Bruce looked at Clark, who was staring back at him, the only one seemingly unfazed by the events, his face nothing but kindness Bruce hadn’t gotten ready for.

Bruce cleared his throat, trying to clear his mind. “Jason, when can I get you back to Roy?”

“Uh. He’s not up yet, but Lee told me I could wait at her place if I got here early.”

Bruce rubbed his eyelids. “Can you…” He looked at Jason, uncomfortable, not really knowing how to say what he meant. He pointed at the stairs. “Make sure Dick’s…” He shut his mouth, deciding it was best if he just ended this disaster.

Jason’s eyes lit up and he nodded quickly. “Of course.” He got up and was gone a second after, running up the stairs.

Bruce turned to Tim next, stuttering even more. “Do you…?”

“Want to talk?” Tim answered. “No,” he added quickly. “No. Not at all. I heard noise so I came down, but I’m going back to bed, actually,” he said and left the room after Jason.

Damian looked at Bruce. “You’re in the way of toast.”

Bruce moved to let Alfred walk past and stayed there, his eyes full of anguish as he tried to come up with something that would make everything magically better.

“Mr. Kent, do you want coffee?” Alfred asked him, trying to fill the silence. Clark was as still as Bruce, standing at the opposite side of the table. “Tea, maybe?”

“Tea,” Clark answered. “If you don’t mind. Please.”

“Can I go eat in my room?” Damian suddenly asked.

Alfred glared at him. “Absolutely not. Sit down.”

“But-”

“ _ Sit down _ ,” Alfred repeated, and Damian sat down, pouting.

Bruce looked at the scene and took in a breath. Everything was suddenly too much, Damian’s little pouting, Alfred’s sharp edge tone, Clark’s little tense smile, the sting of his knuckles, the painful beating of his heart. He felt himself move, leaving the living room through the kitchen, going to the same way Dick had. He didn’t go up the stairs, though, he ran outside instead, kicking doors open as he went, the grass cold and wet under his feet as he reached the garden. He let his body guide him, not really thinking anything through, knowing where he would end up, where he always did. He reached the giant statue that marked the emplacement of his parent’s graves and sat down in the grass, shoulders low and eyes stinging. He hadn’t always felt so little facing the big stone cross. It was weird, he thought, how things had changed. The older he became, the younger he felt facing the grave. He remembered being a kid, furious and vengeful as he stayed hours talking to his dead father, standing there, swearing this would never happen to anyone ever again, that he would do his best to save as many people as he could. He always stayed until Alfred gave him a good reason to go home. He had gotten sick many times, standing there, barefoot under rain and snow, barely feeling any of it, just hanging on to the memories of his mother’s last words before they’d inevitably leave his brain.

Twenty years older, he wouldn’t have been able to remember his mother’s voice to save his life, and the only thing he still told his parents was  _ I’m trying, I swear I’m trying _ , in a loop, as if it would convince imaginary disappointed ghosts that he wasn’t failing them. Today he said nothing, the weight of the words too heavy in his mouth for him to get them out. He felt like it was a lie, anyway. Was he really trying? Was  _ that  _ the best he could do? Hurt all the people he had tried to help and make life harder for everyone? Is that what he wanted to tell his mother? That the only thing he had truly done as a person was being so insufferable just being around him was painful? He raised his head, looked at the inscription in stone. Thomas Wayne.

“Your grandson’s leaving,” Bruce said finally, his voice hoarse. “The oldest, he’s finally leaving me, after everything I did, he’s finally leaving.” He shook his head. “Sorry, dad.”

He went back to silence, not looking at anything anymore, his eyes unfocused. There wasn’t much he could do, he thought, and so he wouldn’t do anything. Maybe if he didn’t move long enough, he would disappear, and everyone would be relieved they didn’t have to find a way to get rid of him anymore.

He didn’t know how much time passed before he felt a hand on his shoulder. He looked up, startled. Clark was standing there, a smile on his face.

“What are you doing here?” Bruce said, suddenly realizing what he must have looked like.

“Wanted to know if you were alright.”

Bruce glared at him suspiciously. “When has anyone cared,” he mumbled.

Clark sat next to him, and to his surprise, he let him. “They care, you know. I know you know that they care, so I don’t really get what you’re so hell bent on being miserable.”

“Do I know you?” Bruce asked, looking ahead.

Clark snorted. “Admittedly, we’re off to a weird start,” he answered. “I know you didn’t want me to hear or see all this, and I’m sorry that I have.”

“Not your fault.”

“Still,” Clark insisted, frowning a little. “Family life isn’t easy for anyone. It seems to be particularly hard for  _ you _ , but it’s more often a mess than not. And a very personal one, at that. I’m not sure it was my place to be here for it.”

Bruce turned to him. “Why are you so nice to me?”

“Because,” Clark answered, handing him what he had been holding for a few minutes, which was a burning cup of hot chocolate, “it looks like not enough people have been.” Bruce clenched his jaw and turned away. “Also, I’m a naturally kind and pretty great person, so there’s that.”

The addition made Bruce chuckle against his will, and he finally accepted the cup. “Hot chocolate?”

“With marshmallows. Alfred told me to bring it to you on his behalf. Said that you were actually a big softie, and that’s what you needed when you were sad.”

Bruce glared at the cup, shaking his head as a slight blush crept up his cheeks. “Thanks.”

“He also said that you shouldn’t be mad at Dick, and that he was the one who convinced him to leave for Europe if he wanted to,” Clark added, looking sad about the fact he was the bearer of such news.

“I’m not mad at Dick,” Bruce answered. This all felt weird, sitting in the grass with hot chocolate and Clark Kent, like they were kids that had known each other for years. “I’m not mad at Dick,” Bruce repeated.

“You’re mad at you,” Clark answered.

“When did you become Dinah?”

“Ever since she told me you refused to take another much needed appointment.”

Bruce blew cold air on his chocolate, shaking his head again. “How many people have told you random facts about me?”

Clark laughed more loudly this time, stretching. “I wasn’t snooping around, I swear.” Bruce gave him an unimpressed glare over his cup. “Okay. Maybe I was snooping around just a little bit. You’re mysterious and unattainable, and it stressed me out.”

Bruce sipped his cup, a small smile forming on his lips. He felt better already. It often happened the same way. When he was sad, or angry, he felt like nothing was worth it, like everything was dark and out to get him and like he would never be strong enough to survive the many, many things that were against him. And then he survived. And then things looked normal again, and he felt foolish for having been so extreme. He also felt  _ so  _ relieved that things weren’t actually that bad that the emotions usually balanced each other just enough that he would manage to keep on living without too much damage. Clark, unexpectedly, was helping balancing things, with his soft laugh and his pretty smile and his kind voice.

“There are a few things I didn’t get information on, though. Care to enlighten me?”

Bruce gave him a shrug. “Go ahead.”

“What’s the deal with Hal?” Bruce rolled his eyes, and Clark raised his hands. “I swear I’m not obsessing over it. I just want to know. And what’s the deal with Harley?”

Bruce sighed. “I met Hal about two years ago. He used to be in the army.” He made a face. “There were… problems with his enlistment,” Bruce said, tiptoeing around the things he felt comfortable saying Clark, and the things he didn’t. Hal’s story wasn’t a pretty one, and it wasn’t his to tell either. “He got discharged. Fell into quite a remarkable depression. Found him there. Got him a job.”

Clark smiled like he was very happy about it. “That’s nice of you.”

“Least I could do,” Bruce answered, shrugging the compliment off. He was always uncomfortable taking praise, feeling like he was just doing what he was supposed to do. Doing anything less seemed horrible to him. “Harley… Harley’s a whole other deal.” He thought again of what he was allowed to share. “She’s a part of the Wayne reinsertion program,” he just said, thinking it was enough. “She’s great.”

“She’s a little…” Clark said, making vague hand gestures.

“She’s great,” Bruce repeated, clearly ending the conversation here.

“You’re great.”

Bruce looked at him for a second, wondering what to say to this. He handed his cup of chocolate. “Want some?”

“Can I take a marshmallow?”

“No,” Bruce said, categorically. “I’m not that generous.”

“Ugh, I take back the compliment,” Clark answered with a grin, but he took the cup anyway.

They stayed here in silence for a little while, sitting next to each other, passing the hot chocolate back and forth. Bruce asked Clark if he knew what the kids were doing, and Clark told him Dick was going to take Jason to see Roy. Bruce thought it was a good idea. They finished the cup, still not saying much. Bruce was bewildered by how comfortable being with Clark was. How surprisingly little space he took up, how easy it was to be next to him and how breathing never got hard.

“You know,” Clark ended up whispering after a while. “I don’t want to ruin the mood, but sitting in front of your parents’ grave is starting to get very creepy.”

Bruce smiled. “You get used to it.” He got up anyway, holding the cup in one hand and extending the other to Clark. “But let’s head back. I’m sure you have stuff to do today. I don’t want to keep you prisoner here.”

“I’m here voluntarily,” Clark noted, accepting Bruce’s hand. Clark took a second to get amazed at how Bruce managed to feel so strong and be so gentle at the same time. He took another second to realize how embarrassing that thought was, and got back on his feet. “But I do have exams to prepare. Don’t you?”

Bruce shook his head no. “I’m always ready weeks before. I just have a TA to get back on my side.”

“He’s on your side,” Clark said with a smile.

Bruce didn’t answer, and they made their way back, still silent. It looked way longer that way, and Bruce’s feet were getting really cold. They finally reached the door to the patio and ushered inside, Clark shivering as he walked in. Bruce walked slowly to the kitchen, acting like someone had set up traps for him in the hallway. He found Alfred in the kitchen, getting busy with the dishes, and put his head on the man’s shoulder.

“Thanks for the hot chocolate.”

Alfred pursed his lips. “Right.”

“I’m sorry, Alfred,” Bruce whispered, always a little child when it came to him. “I’m really sorry.”

“It’s quite alright, Master Bruce. I’m not the one you should be apologizing to.”

“I’m getting to it,” Bruce mumbled, dropping the cup in the sink. “Is there anything you need in Gotham?” He asked. “I’m going to get Clark home and probably drop by Oliver’s.”

Alfred seemed to think about it. “No, thank you. I should be fine.”

“Perfect,” Bruce answered, looking at Clark. “You ready?”

Clark gave a small shrug. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

Bruce nodded, and they made their way to the garage.

“Oh, Bruce?” Clark started, a big smile on his face. “Can we take the Jaguar?”

“Bored of the Lamborghini already?” Bruce asked, raising one eyebrow.

Clark’s smile grew impossibly bigger. “I mean, I’ve always dreamed of driving a Jaguar, ever since I was a little kid. The Lamborghini is cool but… The Jaguar.”

Bruce shrugged and took the right keys from the very organized shelf of keys on the wall. He threw them to Clark, who caught them in mid-air, jumping around like a little kid. “Consider it a thank you gift for the hot chocolate.”

“Damn,” Clark said, moving to the car. “I should give you hot chocolate more often.”

Bruce rolled his eyes and they both sat down. Clark took his time starting the car, laughing every time he realized he was  _ actually driving a Jaguar _ . The drive to campus, where Clark’s little apartment was, was much more fun that Bruce would have planned. They ended up parking in front of the building still laughing from Clark’s terrible driving at top speed. Bruce offered to walk up the stairs with Clark for no reason, and Clark accepted enthusiastically also for no reason. He opened the door to the messy flat, trying to hide the mess with his back as he opened the door.

They looked at each other for quite a long time, Bruce’s promise to give Clark the worst date ever still on his mind. He wondered if it was worth it. Clark was a nice guy, that had never really asked to know Bruce the way he had, and Bruce wondered if fucking it up was a good idea. Really, he knew he would chicken out when things would get more intense, but maybe, maybe, he could try it out. Maybe he could have that, even if it wasn’t for long. He thought about it as he watched Clark’s eyes go from his eyes to his lips several times in a second, and he made a quick decision. He spoke before he had time to regret it.

“What if we…” Bruce started. “What if we forgot about the date and skipped to the interesting part where I’m done making your evening a living hell and you still kind of like me anyway?”

Clark didn’t hesitate. He moved to grab Bruce’s collar and dragged him into the flat, slamming the door shut behind him. “Sorry about the mess,” he said, kissing him before Bruce could answer.

“It’s okay,” Bruce said when they pulled apart, lips red and hair already tousled. “I only need the bed.”

Clark gave him a wicked smile and they stumbled to it, holding on to each other. Bruce’s sweater had disappeared in the time it took them to reach the mattress, and Clark’s belt was already on the floor, but none of them really knew how it had ended up here. It didn’t matter. What mattered was Clark’s lips on Bruce’s neck, and Bruce’s hands on Clark’s thighs, and their synchronized sighs as they moved against each other.

“This was a nice idea,” Clark said in between two loud breaths, “to skip the date.”

Bruce smiled against his shoulder, biting the skin there. “Shut up,” he answered.

They didn’t speak for a good while after that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (i know.. i kinda advertised a superbat date and then i did that instead.. sorry...... xxxx)


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SURPRISE BITCH............ I BET YOU THOUGHT YOU'D SEEN THE LAST OF ME

They were silent for a while after it ended. Bruce thought it would be more awkward than that, but it was just satisfied silence. It felt like _finally_ getting something they had waited for months – maybe it was just that. Maybe Bruce just realized how much he had wanted Clark. He didn’t trust the feeling of gratification, though, knowing that soon enough, it would go, and that was something else he would have to handle. Regret was already showing its tail.

“I’m sorry I called you a bad father,” Clark said, cutting the silence. He moved, too. They had been lying next to each other, without really touching, a stark contrast compared to what they had been doing a few minutes before that. Clark put his arm around Bruce’s shoulder, nudging him to get closer. To his surprise, Bruce did, imperceptibly drawn to Clark’s chest. “I know I’m months late with this apology, but I want you to hear it anyway.”

Bruce snorted. “You’re only saying this because you were here for the Wayne mess an hour ago.”

“I’m not,” Clark said. Bruce didn’t seem so convinced, and Clark insisted. “I’m not. I mean that. Families aren’t easy, and I wouldn’t know about fatherhood, but I’m ready to bet it’s worse. You’re doing great, from the looks of your kids.”

Bruce wanted to tell him that he shouldn’t get any credit for that, that his money had done a good part of the job and the rest was just Dick’s aggressive caring for his little brothers. They were all naturally smart, and Alfred had always been a strong support. He didn’t think he had actually done anything worth being called good parenting. “Whatever,” he just answered, uncomfortable. “I still hate journalists,” Bruce felt like adding anyway, just to throw the ball back on Clark’s side.

Clark chuckled. “Hate is a strong word.”

“You’re not even a journalist. You’re a professor.”

“I’ll always be a journalist,” Clark corrected him with a smile, his fingers grazing Bruce’s arm.

Bruce was about to answer, trying not to get used to the feeling of Clark’s body next to him, the warmth of his smile and the tenderness of his fingers. This was why he only fucked when he and his partner were drunk, so he wouldn’t remember the details that would sure come back to haunt him for a significant amount of time. His phone rang and saved him from finding something to come up with, and he shook his head, as if to find his way back to his usual cool, contained exterior. He got up, pushing Clark in the process, trying to find his pants on the floor. He could see now how messy the flat was. He retrieved his ringing phone from his pants and frowned, walking back to the bed as he answered. He sat down, rubbing his forehead like he was in pain. Clark sent him a look that he ignored.

“What do you want?”

 _“Never give up on your charming personality, Bruce,”_ Hal said on the phone. He didn’t really sound bothered by it, and Bruce guessed he just wanted to call him out on something. _“I’m calling because I wanted to ask if you knew your son just stole his brother’s phone to call me and ask if I could take him to the zoo.”_

Bruce’s head snapped up in surprise, and he got back up, now trying to find his briefs, thinking they couldn’t have been thrown very far. “I didn’t know that,” he answered tightly, as if it hurt to say it. “We’re talking about Damian, right?”

_“No, Dick wants to go to the zoo with me.”_

“Hal, it’s not funny.”

Clark sat up on the bed, reaching for his glasses as if putting them on would help him figure out what was going on.

 _“Sorry,”_ Hal said, clearing his throat. _“Look, I’m free this afternoon, and I lead a sad life with few friends and even less things to actually do aside from work, so I don’t mind taking him. I just want to take it up with you first because… he’s your son. And I’m wondering why he felt like asking me to go.”_

Bruce had found his pair of underwear and reached for his pants. He put them on and sat at the desk’s chair, pushing books on the floor to have enough room. Clark made a noise of protest that Bruce didn’t bother acknowledging.

“I don’t know what’s with him lately,” Bruce lied. “But it’s none of your business.”

 _“I don’t want to get into this,”_ Hal answered quickly. _“I just don’t want for it to look like I kidnapped your son.”_

Bruce sighed into the phone, his heart breaking in pieces. He knew he had to talk with Damian, to explain to him what had happened to his mother. He had known for years this conversation would come, and he also knew he should have braced himself for it instead of thinking that maybe Damian would be smart enough not to ask. It was his job as a father, and he had failed. Again. Failed badly enough that Damian was now asking a work colleague to take him to the zoo instead of asking a member of his family. Admittedly, Dick was busy, and Damian didn’t enjoy spending time with Tim, but Bruce should have been the one going back to his baby to tell him he’d clear his schedule and they’d do something together. He shouldn’t have left after a fight, especially not for a fling with some random guy who would disappear from his life in a few months.

“Thanks for warning me, Hal,” Bruce said, not really knowing what else to tell him. There was a long silence as Bruce pondered whether or not to let him take his son out for an afternoon of fun at the Gotham Zoo.

 _“Look, uhm,”_ started Hal again, clearly uncomfortable. _“I don’t want to insist or get into family stuff I have no place in but he did say he would climb out of his window and walk to the zoo himself if I said no. Can you get to him faster than that, or should I just… do it? I can be at the manor in about five minutes, and I really don’t mind being the babysitter if it helps, but I think it’s either you go or I do. He shouldn’t be alone right now.”_

Bruce almost hung up out of sheer frustration. He didn’t want to deal with this. “Can you go?” he asked, knowing how bad it probably sounded, to delegate his job as a father to someone Damian admittedly really liked, but someone that didn’t have any place in the family. “I’ll…” Bruce took a deep breath, glaring at Clark, who was impatiently waiting for explanations and pretending he wasn’t. “I’ll meet you there, alright? I’ll be there as soon as I can.” It’s not that he didn’t trust Hal, it’s that he didn’t trust Damian. He had to go, if only for damage control. Besides, he remembered the promise he had made to himself to talk with Hal about _stuff_. This was the occasion. “I’ll deal with it then. Sorry about that.”

_“It’s alright. Damian’s my favorite buddy. It’ll be fun.”_

“Right,” Bruce said, and hung up before Hal could speak again. He knew this was true, that they really did get along. He was the only professor who wasn’t scared of Damian when Bruce brought him to college, and also the only one that Damian actually liked. Sometimes he stayed with him during class, and Bruce looked everywhere for his son only to realize he was sitting at Hal’s desk, trying to unnderstand the man’s engineering lessons and how the miniature planes he had on his desk functioned.

“Everything alright?” Clark asked, barely containing his curiosity.

“Everything’s fine,” Bruce answered. He walked back to the bed without really realizing it, sitting on the edge of it, next to Clark’s arm. “My youngest son stole my other son’s phone to call _Hal_ to ask him to take him out to the zoo after throwing a tantrum at home earlier this morning. I’ve got everything under control.”

Clark raised his arm to rub Bruce’s back, a little sorry smile on his face. None of them said anything, and Clark scooted closer, just enough so he could kiss Bruce on the cheek. Bruce leaned in to the touch, moving his head so they could kiss more properly. Soon enough, their tongues were grazing each other, Bruce’s hand on Clark’s arm, digging his nails into the man’s skin. It annoyed him that Clark was still tender. Bruce wanted to hurt. He needed the physical violence to let off some steam, and Clark refused to give that to him, as if he knew what Bruce needed better than him.

Bruce ended up pushing him back. “I have to go. And you have work to do.”

Clark nodded, chewing on his bottom lip. “Are you going to be alright?”

“Yes,” Bruce lied again. He didn’t have time to whine, nor did he want to.

“Maybe things would be better if you stopped lying all the time about these things.”

“Did I ask?” Bruce answered and got up, grabbing his phone again. He dialed Alfred’s number. His butler answered a second after. “What’s up with Damian?”

 _“He’s locked in his room and waiting for a friend, I hear,”_ the man answered.

“The friend’s Hal. He’ll be there soon. Let him go with him. I’m dealing with this.”

Alfred didn’t answer, clearly not believing him, and Bruce hung up again. He had enough of everyone’s negativity. He guessed Dick was out with Jason, and Tim was the one who was probably wondering where his phone was. If there was one person he didn’t want to deal with right now and didn’t feel like it would change anything, it was Tim. Tim was self-sufficient, or at least had the grace to pretend he was, and Bruce took every opportunity he had to believe him. There were more pressing topics than Tim skipping class.

Bruce looked back at Clark. “This was fun,” he said flatly, expecting Clark to understand this ended here and now. “Let’s never do that again.”

“That bad?” Clark asked, laughing without really meaning it.

“Please don’t give me those eyes,” Bruce answered, pointing at him insistently. Another thing he didn’t want to have to deal with was Clark’s sad face as his hopes and dreams were crushed. “You knew what you were getting into.”

“That’s not what I wanted to get into, actually,” Clark corrected. “The date, remember?”

“You agreed to skip it,” Bruce said, grabbing his shirt from the floor. “Get over it and move on. They all do.”

“What if I don’t want to?”

Bruce turned back, faking confusion. “How is that my problem?”

Clark was taken aback by the cold in the man’s voice, trying to look for the Bruce he had talked to this morning in front of his parents’ grave, or the Bruce who had laughed with him in the car or the Bruce who had wanted him in such a simple, pleasant way that Clark had forgotten the harshness he was capable of.

“You’re doing this,” Clark said, not really knowing what answer he expected.

“I’m doing this,” Bruce answered, which disappointed Clark but didn’t surprise him. “Frankly, I don’t know why you expected anything else.” There was a long silence as Bruce got his stuff back, his sweater, his keys, his coat. He tiptoed across the flat, trying not to crush more of Clark’s stuff. He put his hand on the door, not really knowing if he should add anything, or if he even wanted to. “Enjoy being the next Hal Jordan,” he just spat, reminding Clark of what he had said the night before, wishing it to be the final nail in whatever this was’s coffin.

Clark snorted. “What, I should get ready to babysit your kids next?”

“No, you can just leave it at _something happened and we never talked about it ever again_ , and I can go back to dismissing you every time I have the chance,” Bruce answered, and closed the door behind him. He winced at how unnecessarily mean this had been, and walked down the stairs to his car. He glared at the piece of paper on the hood indicating he’d have to pay for parking there, and wondered which God he had angered to have such a bad day. It wasn’t like he couldn’t afford it, but he got annoyed on principle.

He climbed in his car, put the radio as loud as he could, as if this would help drowning the noise of his thoughts, and drove to the zoo. This wasn’t what he had planned for the afternoon. It wasn’t what he had planned for the day, at all. He grabbed his phone again and dialed Dick’s number. He waited a full minute and didn’t get an answer, his heart tightening painfully. He would have liked to hear his reasonable son, who would have known what to tell him to make it all alright. But unfortunately, Dick had grown tired of making it alright for him.

 

***

 

Hal nodded at the girl standing at the zoo’s entrance. He would have liked to at least get to say hello, but Damian had ran off as soon as he’d given his ticket, and he had to follow before he lost someone else’s son. And not just anyone else. If he lost Bruce Wayne’s child, he would probably lose his head next. That was _not_ how he wanted to go. He managed to catch up with the kid pretty fast, because Damian had stopped to look at tigers. Hal looked at him, his round, chubby face squished against the glass, and smiled. Damian was a good kid, under all the nerves and anger and tantrums and insecurities and hard exterior. Hal had lied to Bruce, telling him Damian was waiting for him. When he’d call Damian’s father, the boy was already in the car, looking through the window, pouting. When Damian had called Hal, Hal had moved immediately, his heart breaking as he heard him try to stay tough as he just said _my dad’s not home and he’s mad at me and I’m mad at him and I just want to go see the lions_. His voice had wobbled on the last words, and Hal had been at the manor faster than light. No one expected of Hal to ever care that much, and often underestimated his ability to make people like him, but here he was.

“Can we go see the penguins next?” Hal asked, chewing on his piece of gum.

Damian raised his head at him. “The penguins?”

“They’re my favorites,” Hal answered with a nod.

“Is it because you understand them because you look and think like one?”

Hal looked back at the kid and his shit eating grin, and considered this. He gave the boy a one shoulder shrug. “Probably. Have you never seen _Happy Feet_? I really relate to this inadequate penguin who finds his way by standing up against his society’s standards.”

Damian walked away from the glass, bored with the tigers, and moved with Hal to the next animals. He seemed to think over what Hal had just said, all seriousness now. “My father can do the dance at the end,” he finally said.

Hal burst out laughing. “Bruce? Bruce can do the _Happy Feet_ dance?”

Damian nodded, a slight smile on his lips. “Ask him to do it. He’s already mad at me, it can’t be worse now.”

“ _Buddy_ ,” Hal said, stopping in front of birds. Damian ignored him, and Hal crouched in front of him. “Buddy. Do you want to talk about it?”

Damian crossed his arms against his chest. “No. I want to look at the birds in silence.”

Hal almost spoke again and decided against it. They watched the birds for a little while.

“Do you think they have bats?” Hal asked.

“I don’t want to see the bats,” Damian said, and ran away again.

Hal had to run after him, and lost him twice but found him in front of gorillas, pushing children away so he could get first row. Hal tried to get him to behave, getting nasty looks from surrounding parents, and gave up when Damian crawled under someone’s legs to gain a spot in front of the cage. He just stood back, looking at the half asleep gorilla over the kids’ heads. His phone rang, and he got it out of his pocket, walking away while keeping his eyes on Damian’s head.

“Bruce?”

 _“Speaking_ ,” Bruce said. _“Where are you guys?”_

“Facing the gorilla right now,” Hal answered. “I don’t know where we are exactly in the zoo. Damian ran.”

Bruce grunted, as if he knew exactly what Hal was talking about. _“Did he say anything?”_

Hal pondered on what to answer, wondering if he should try to get Damian to explain what he felt again, or if he should leave it between Waynes. “Not really. Apart from saying you were mad at him.”

 _“I’m not mad—”_ Bruce sighed. _“Whatever. I’ll talk to him. I… Can you try and make him understand I’m not mad at him before I get there? If he thinks that, he’s never going to let me come close._ ”

Hal scratched his head. “I don’t know how I’m going to do that.”

 _“You’re right. It’s not you who should either. I’m sorry._ ”

“Look,” Hal said quickly, getting ready to run again as Damian made his way back through the same crowd of kids he had just viciously pushed away. “I can try again. Give us ten minutes, and we can meet in front of the penguins.”

_“The penguins?”_

“They’re my favorite,” he said again.

 _“I’m not surprised._ ”

“Your son said the same thing.”

Bruce started laughing and ended up clearing his throat. _“Good boy.”_

“ _Happy Feet_ , uh?” Hal asked, sure that his smile could be heard through the phone. A second later, he heard the tonality and understood Bruce had hung up as fast as he could. Damian waved at him from afar and he walked to him.

“What’s up, my guy?”

“The penguins are here,” Damian said, pointing excitedly. “We can stop a little if you want.”

Hal smiled and made his way to a miraculously empty bench not far from the penguins. He sat down, and invited the kid to sit next to him. Damian did, which was a good sign.

“You don’t want to get closer?” Damian asked.

“I’m fine here. I can see them all at once. If I get closer, I’m going to get in the way of these kids,” Hal said, pointing.

Damian nodded thoughtfully. “I can make them go away if you want.”

Hal chuckled. “It’s alright. Thanks, though.”

Damian nodded again, as if to say _anytime_. He looked at the people walking, and focused on a cotton candy machine not far away. “I want some.”

Hal dug in his pocket for cash, and handed it to him. “Only if you come back and we talk for just a few minutes.”

Damian considered, and almost refused until a little girl walked past with a mouthful of cotton candy. He angrily accepted the bill and jogged to the man selling them. Hal looked at the penguins with a little smile. He had always liked those animals. He didn’t really know why. A lot of things had changed ever since he’d been a kid, but that had been a constant. He thought of the little penguin sheets he used to have and shook his head. Damian came back with two sticks. He handed one to Hal, who raised an eyebrow.

“Is that for me?”

Damian gave a shy nod, like he didn’t want to be caught doing something nice. “Just take it or give it back to me.”

Hal grabbed it hurriedly. “Are you kidding? I’m not letting you eat cotton candy without me. Thanks. You’re a real friend.”

Damian looked happy to hear that and started eating his cotton candy like he hadn’t eaten anything in decades. Hal smiled as he watched him smear pink sugar all over his mouth. It contrasted with his brown skin, and made him look younger than he was.

“What did you want to talk about?” Damian said as he caught Hal staring.

“Bruce,” Hal answered, getting to the point. “You know he’s not mad at you, right?”

“You don’t know that,” Damian said. “You weren’t here.”

“Alright. Maybe he was mad for a few minutes. But I know your father, and I know he could never stay mad at you for a long time. He loves you.”

“He doesn’t want to answer my questions,” Damian said, frowning. He looked at Hal’s face carefully, trying to decide what he wanted to say and what he didn’t, probably knowing this would go back to his father at some point. “And I don’t want to talk to him if he won’t treat me like an adult.”

Hal laughed, and apologized for laughing a minute after that. “He should treat you with the respect you deserve, but you’re still young. You can’t expect him to talk to you the same way he talks to adults.”

Damian made a _pft_ sound. “I’m smart.”

“You’re smarter than most kids, I’ll grant you that. But there are things that are delicate and you can’t understand yet,” Hal said. “I know you probably heard that before. I’m sure you get it, though.”

“I just want to know where my mom is,” Damian said, suddenly angry. He looked at Hal, as if the man would have a magical solution to that problem. Hal didn’t, and just gave him a sad look. “I don’t think this had anything to do with being an adult,” Damian insisted. “I’m old enough to know.”

“You’re right,” Hal answered.

Damian frowned at him, his button nose crunching. “What?”

Hal shrugged. “You’re right. If that’s the problem, I agree with you.”

“Do you know?” Damian asked cautiously.

“Unfortunately, I’m more friends with you than Bruce, and he doesn’t like to share, so I can’t help. But I can talk to him and try to make him tell you,” Hal offered. Damian’s eyes were so full of hope, so full of surprise at having someone talk to him as seriously as he wanted to, it broke Hal’s heart all over again. Hal put his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “I’m going to do my best, buddy. But you need to understand this isn’t easy for your dad either, alright?”

Damian nodded halfheartedly, waving it away already.

“No,” Hal insisted. “You can ask your big brothers, and they’ll tell you the same thing. It’s hard for Bruce, and if you want him to understand you’re big enough, you need to chill with the temper tantrums for a second and let him get to it.”

“Alright,” Damian said, almost too quietly for Hal to hear. “I’m going to go see the penguins closer,” he said after that, not asking if Hal would follow. He just got up, threw the cotton candy stick in the nearest trashcan and ran away.

“Stay where I can see you!” Hal yelled after him. Damian ignored him.

“Good luck with that,” a voice said behind him and Hal jumped. He turned around and faced Bruce, who was sporting big sunglasses who fashionably hid half his face. “I heard what you just told him.”

Hal looked at him and waited until he sat down at the place his son had been a few seconds before that. He didn’t really know what to say to that, and whether or not it was a good thing. “How many times have we told you to stop sneaking up on people like this?”

Bruce was looking ahead, probably to Damian, who was fighting his way to the nearest penguin. “If I had 10 dollars every time someone said that to me, I’d be rich.” Hal glared at him. “Oh, wait,” Bruce deadpanned. Hal kept glaring at him, so Bruce turned. Hal couldn’t see his eyes behind the dark shades, but the rest of his face conveyed the expression he wanted well enough. “Why did you defend me?”

Hal cleared his throat. “I wasn’t going to pit your son against you.”

“You had good reasons to do so,” Bruce answered.

“I didn’t, actually,” Hal said, pinching his lips. “You keep telling everyone they have good reasons to bring you down in any possible way, but I wasn’t there to see you fight with Damian, I’ve never spent more than 10 minutes inside your house, you’ve never given me any reason to treat you like an asshole, and instead gave me a job and a new place to build my life again when I needed it, and I’ve got about ten people I can call right now that will tell me you’re a good guy.” Bruce looked at him, taken aback. Hal shrugged. “I’ve got no good reasons to pit you against your son. I never had. I hope I never will.”

Bruce didn’t know what to answer that. Hal was always doing the unexpected. When Bruce had asked Hal to meet the dean of Gotham U so they could finalize his new teaching position, Hal had called him to tell him he would be late because he had burned his sofa down with his toaster after slipping on milk he had just spilled on the floor when a stray cat had jumped from his window to his sink, causing a chain reaction that had him barely escaping his flat with his life. This exact same man had once managed to build a functional little robot from scraps in his office, with various electronic pieces he had collected from dozens of different things. He had been sitting down, talking with Barry about something, and Bruce had watched him build this like it was the easiest thing in the world, without any kind of help, and barely focusing on what he was doing.

Hal was not a complicated man, but Bruce thought he was an admirable one, who had more qualities and talents than even he dared to admit. It wasn’t always pleasant to stay with him for a long time, because Bruce started having trouble with the never ending flow of words coming out of his mouth and the _I don’t give a fuck_ attitude after an hour, but he guessed it was more his fault than Hal’s. He understood where the man was coming from, and how important it was to him to smile all the time, just so he wouldn’t start thinking about all the reasons he had not to. Hal had been thrown out of the life he had chosen a while ago, and Bruce had a tremendous amount of respect for how strongly he had worked to survive. He wasn’t made to be a teacher. He had never meant to end up here, in Gotham, and yet he had begrudgingly made the best of it. Those were qualities Bruce wished he had.

“Well, thanks,” Bruce finally said, for lack of anything better.

Hal gave him a small nod. “Don’t worry about it.”

“I wanted to ask you something,” Bruce started, speaking fast before he lost the will to do it. “I just wanted to know if we… you were alright?”

Hal looked at him weirdly. “If I was alright?”

Bruce made a vague hand gesture. “I’m sorry about what happened at Oliver’s last night. I thought you knew and that we just… didn’t talk about it. It was fine with me, so I assumed it was fine with you too.”

Hal snorted. “That?” Hal waved it away, too. “I’m more upset that I wasn’t there to enjoy it than that it happened.”

“It was consensual,” Bruce felt compelled to say.

Hal gave him an awkward look. “I know.”

“I just wanted to make sure you knew. We were both very drunk, but I only remembered it because I’m better with alcohol than you are, not because it…” Bruce clicked his tongue. “You know.”

“I know. Don’t freak out.”

“I’m not freaking out, I’m just telling you,” Bruce insisted.

They were silent for a while, trying to find something else to talk about that wouldn’t be as awkward. They were saved by a kid screaming. Bruce immediately got up, as if compelled to help whichever children needed it. His eyes found Damian, standing over another kid who was on the ground, crying. Someone stood next to Bruce and he turned his head.

A mother pointed at Damian. “Is it yours?”

“I don’t know him,” Bruce answered.

“Father!” Damian yelled.

Bruce gave her an apologetic look and rushed to his son. “What did you do?”

“I know him from school. He’s the one that annoys me so I punched him,” Damian supplied helpfully. Bruce grabbed the children from the ground and raised him up, wordlessly directing him to his mother.

“Apologize,” Bruce told Damian.

“No.”

“ _Apologize_.”

“No.”

“Say you’re sorry,” Bruce insisted.

“I’m not!”

“Lie about it,” Bruce said, pushing Damian to the kid and his mother, who was giving the two of them a death glare. “I don’t care. Make it convincing. Go before she sues me.”

“You have the money and the lawyers.”

“Not a reason. Don’t make me carry you there.”

Damian groaned the entire 30 seconds walk to them, said he was sorry he hit him but not sorry “your child is a mean idiot”, at which point Bruce had to scoop Damian from the ground and walk away, gesturing at Hal to follow. Bruce let Damian go after he got an elbow in his mouth, and Damian ran off in a random direction just as Hal reached them.

“He’s been doing that all afternoon.”

“He’s been doing that his entire life,” Bruce muttered, and followed, taking huge steps, not letting Damian go far without supervision. “Thanks for taking him there, by the way.”

Hal smiled, trying to keep up with Bruce. “It’s cool. I meant what I said. Damian’s a really nice kid, when you get to know him.” Hal wondered if he could ask, and decided to do it anyway. “Where were you? I thought you’d be getting ready for tomorrow’s first midterms.”

Bruce noticed Damian’s head close to the lions and stopped, relieved his son was close. He wondered what kind of lie he could come up with, and decided Hal didn’t deserve this. If he had to be nice to at least one person today, it would be him. “I was with Clark.”

“Right.” Hal answered. “I noticed you guys didn’t come back last night.”

“Last night was a complicated mess. I brought him home earlier today.”

Hal gave him a cool look that Bruce did his best to ignore. “Spent the night over, uh?”

“Nothing happened _last night_ ,” Bruce said, silently blessing Hal for allowing him to avoid the obvious topic while also avoiding a huge lie. “I don’t want to talk about this.”

Hal raised his hands up. “Fine. Diana will tell me when you tell her.”

Bruce made a noise of protest and Hal gave him an innocent smile. Bruce ended up giving up on secrecy and the conversation altogether, walking to Damian, who was facing kids bigger than him and that he couldn’t push away as easily as he had the other ones. Bruce crouched next to his son. “How about you climb up my shoulders? You’ll be taller than all of them.”

Damian thought it over, tried to see above the crowd again, and gave in. He let Bruce settle him behind his head and gave anyone that could see a triumphal smile as he rose above everyone in the zoo. Bruce was taller than most, and Damian sat as straight as he could, enjoying towering over everyone else. He focused back on the zoo once he had appreciated his height advantage enough, and Bruce felt his son’s hand on the top of his head. He couldn’t help but smile at the feeling, thinking of how it must have looked from the outside. A father and his son, just enjoying a trip to the zoo. Simple things. They spent a few minutes like this, Bruce moving around so Damian could get a better look at the lions. When they both grew bored, they walked back to Hal, who was focused on the little monkeys not far away.

“Monkeys are boring,” Damian stated.

Hal raised his head to look at Damian. “I don’t know, I kind of like you.”

“RUDE!” Damian yelled in outrage, hitting Bruce on the top of the head at the same time. “Father! Are you going to let him call me a monkey?”

Bruce laughed, looking at Hal’s mischievous face. “I don’t know, I think you’re old enough to defend yourself.”

“I hate you,” Damian told Hal, crossing his arms against his chest again, in typical Damian fashion. The change in balance almost made him fall backward, but Bruce felt him slip and raised his arm quickly to hold him in place.

“Careful!” he just said, his heart beating ridiculously fast as he thought of all the ways Damian could have just fell to the ground and broke his skull. Hal looked at him, shaking his head. “What is it?”

“Nothing,” Hal said. “It’s nothing. It’s just that even your big sunglasses can’t hide fatherly worry. I think it’s nice.”

Bruce looked at Hal, embarrassed but weirdly proud at the same time. This was probably the only thing he wasn’t ashamed of. He didn’t think he was a good father, but he liked being one. He knew how difficult the subject of _family_ was for Hal, though, and so he didn’t linger on it. Hal sent him a grateful look when he changed the subject.

“When are your students’ midterms starting?”

“Wednesday,” Hal answered, sighing. “I’m already dreading what they’re going to come up with this year.”

Bruce smiled. “Do you like it here?”

The question would have come out of nowhere for anyone else, but Hal had been asked this by Bruce at least fifty times _this year only_. “You know I’ve been here for at least five years now, right?”

“Yeah,” Bruce answered. “Still.”

“I like it here,” Hal said, rolling his eyes.

“Alright,” Bruce said. “Don’t call my son a monkey again.”

“I didn’t…” Hal started, but gave up. Damian stuck his tongue at him and Hal shook his head, a small smile on his face. “I’m going to head home. Give you two time alone.”

Bruce gave him a thankful look, and nudged Damian.

Damian extended his hand over Bruce’s face for a high five. Hal hit his palm against the boy’s. “Let’s do it again soon.”

“You got it,” Hal answered, always amused at the way Damian talked to him. “When are you coming back to school with us? My third year students miss you.”

Damian shrugged. “Ask him,” he said, pointing at his father.

“When, Bruce?”

“We’ll see about that later,” Bruce said, cutting things short. He felt his mood dropping again, and still had to have the Mother Discussion with his son. He’d have to do it soon if he didn’t want to lie to Damian, which would be a mistake that’d come back to bite him in the ass eventually. “We have other things to talk about.”

Hal understood and shook Bruce’s hand, light jogging to the exit. Bruce saw him stop in front of the penguins again and couldn’t help but chuckle. He grabbed Damian and put him back on the ground in front of him.

“How about we go eat somewhere? Are you hungry?”

Damian shrugged, and they started walking together. Bruce pointed at the zoo’s cafeteria and Damian agreed. They settled a few minutes later with a pizza between them, Damian barely tall enough to sit in the booth properly. He would never have asked for something to prop himself up, and Bruce didn’t offer. It made for an endearing sight.

“Hal said it was hard for you,” Damian said, adjusting himself as best as he could on the leather seat of the booth they were in. He tore a piece of pizza and chewed on it. “To talk about stuff.”

Bruce licked his lips, trying not to sigh too loudly. “Right. He’s right. But it shouldn’t get in the way of things.”

Damian kept on thoughtfully chewing. “I agree.” Bruce rolled his eyes. “I think I need to know what happened to my mother.”

“Why didn’t you tell me you were having trouble at school because of that?” Bruce asked, anxiety chewing at his stomach. He didn’t want the answer, but those were all necessary questions.

“Because I’m not having trouble,” Damian answered quickly, closing up. “I’m not.”

“Dick said classmates bothered you about it.”

Damian scoffed. “I bother them back, so it’s okay.”

“But it gets to you,” Bruce offered, trying to make it easier for his son. “It has every right to get to you. It’s alright if it does.”

Damian looked carefully at his father, his lips trembling just a little as he tried not to show it stung. Bruce knew his son’s face by heart, and could read it like a book. He wished he could make Damian understand he didn’t have to hide these things, but Bruce knew. Bruce knew what it felt like, and he pretended he didn’t see the emotions clouding Damian’s eyes.

“It’s annoying is all,” Damian said, swallowing his pizza.

“I get it,” Bruce answered. Damian glared at him, and Bruce extended his palms. “Eh. You think I was never upset over not having parents like everyone else?”

Damian seemed to remember he didn’t have grandparents either, and blushed. “Sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Bruce said, ruffling his son’s hair. He was the only one who was allowed to do it. “Your mother is in rehab,” he blurted out, because he didn’t think there was any other way to say it. Damian stared at him. “Do you know what it means?”

“That’s where they put people who do drugs?”

“Yes,” Bruce answered. “There’s no easy way to go at it, and I want to be honest with you. That’s where she is.”

“Was she with me when I was born, or did you take me away immediately?”

Bruce looked at his son, wishing he could take back the _I want to be honest with you_. Suddenly, that’s the last thing he wanted. He took another piece of pizza to fill his mouth and pretend he couldn’t speak right now. Damian patiently waited for him, and Bruce struggled to come up with a decent lie. He eventually had to swallow, which proved difficult.

“I was always with you,” Bruce lied. Damian looked at him, trying to find the crack in Bruce’s mask. Bruce felt sad about it, but his son was too young to know when his father lied. There were three people who could always find out, and those were Alfred, Selina, and Dick, although even Dick sometimes struggled. “From the start,” Bruce insisted.

Damian slowly smiled. “That’s so cool. Always together.”

“I know,” Bruce said, smiling, too. Another lie. He couldn’t take it back now, but Damian would eventually figure out there was a chronological problem in family pictures. The truth was harsher. Bruce had one day opened his door to Alfred in the living room, waiting for him with a four years old kid. He remembered the scene perfectly. _Who’s that?_ Alfred’s questioning eyes. _Your son_. Bruce hadn’t known he’d existed at the time, much less that he would have to raise him from there. Damian had been lucky that Bruce had an unhealthy relationship with fatherhood and that he would have adopted any kid without a home who was waiting for him in his living room, but still. He hadn’t known he existed, nor had he even wondered about it. Talia had been a drug induced fling, and he remembered very little of the time he had spent with her. That a son would come out of this bad place was still something that made it hard to breathe. And something he didn’t want to have to explain to Damian. Not yet. “Now you know,” Bruce said, clearing his throat.

“Can I tell the people at school she’s in jail?”

Bruce snorted. “I’m sure we can come up with a better lie.”

Damian thought about it. “What’s a good crime? One that says, _don’t mess with me_?”

Bruce smiled a little, not sure if he should be encouraging that. He decided he didn’t care, and soon enough, the pizza grew cold as they animatedly constructed the false story of Damian’s mother, talking over each other, Bruce surprised at Damian’s wild imagination and Damian happy his father didn’t mind playing the game. Bruce was glad to sort that problem out, pushing it at the back of his brain. The next order of business would be getting to Dick, which was infinitely more emotionally exhausting, and would be much, much harder. But right now, he was happy to focus on his little boy, sitting on his knees to look over the table, his eyes full of glee and his laughter resonating around the cafeteria as people around gave them weird looks. Right now, this was enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i wanted the beginning notes to just be A MEME but more about me: so, my life is shit,,, and writing is EVEN HARDER THESE DAYS, but i pulled thru because i love this fic and i want to end it properly. i didn't want to give up at 50k!! so it will go on, i'm trying to find where i was going again, and i hope this chapter wasn't too disappointing. more will come soon (i hope!), and i'm only hoping that you liked this little hal/bruce/damian interlude in the time it takes me to find my footing again. but that was the damian issue that needed to be sorted so it's SORTED now. also i love hal so i wanted him to have a more important role for a little while. ANYWAY THIS WAS A NICE CHAPTER TO WRITE, i hope it reads well and it's not too... boring. it's probably underwhelming rip but i'm BACK FAM. I'M BACK I SWEAR TO GOD I'M BACK AND BETTER CONTENT WILL COME UP SOON? JAYDICK WILL BE BACK AND SO WILL ROY.
> 
> i hope y'all liked bvs (I LOVED BVS) and you can hmu on twitter @brucewvayne. i just realized my bio only has my tumblr so i'm giving yall my twitter now. i love u all thank you for the nice comments on my last chap and i hope (how many times have i said that already) that i didn't lose all of u in the time it took me to write this one!!! XXXX C U SOON BABESSSSS


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello!!! im here with a new chapter (duh) that i hope u guys will like. for the people who were kind and wished for my life to get better: IT DID. i found a job and i like it and i'm exhausted all the time but it's fun etc. etc. etc. so like... thanks to all of u who waited for me and then told me nice things you all deserve the best <3
> 
> shout out to hummy because i promised them two things: desk sex and two shout outs on this chapter. considering theres no desk sex (but dont give up hope) i have to keep one of those two promises. 
> 
> HAVE FUN READING THIS GUYS!!!!!

They got home from the zoo. It had been more complicated than planned, because they had met with paparazzi in the parking lot. Bruce was used to them, and his kids were too, to some extent. Dick had been left alone when he’d stopped competing in gymnastics tournament and had gotten back to being a boring, regular teenager. They still liked to get him from times to times, because he was the best Wayne you could take an unwanted picture of: he was less likely to punch, and more likely to be attractive regardless of the camera’s angle. Damian was next most wanted, because he was the youngest and people liked to gossip about his future, but also because he was aggressive but still photogenic – if you were a good photographer, you could get out of the confrontation without too much damage _and_ good pictures. Next was Tim, who was all around boring, very easily intimidated by the flashing lights, and who found new ways to hide from the cameras every time. There was very little to be taken out of him. The absolute worst kid to surprise was still Cassandra Cain, who had once knocked a paparazzi out with his own camera, grabbing the zoom and slamming it back into his head so hard he had fell and opened his head on the pavement. It was better to just avoid the girl altogether.

Bruce and Damian had reached the car quickly, Bruce grabbing Damian with one hand so he wouldn’t run and bit someone’s finger off, hiding his son’s face with the other at the same time. He didn’t care for his pictures in random magazines. His son’s anonymity was another business, and he had always done his best to protect his kids from things they hadn’t chosen. They had gone home even quicker after that, Bruce not bothering to drive past Ollie for their regular pre-exam week aperitif. Maybe it would be best if he was home sober and early this time around. Alfred was happy to see him home so soon, so Bruce decided not all was lost. He let Damian run off to whatever game he wanted to play, and found Tim studying in the living room, a slice of sandwich bread hanging from his mouth. His eyes were fixated on a page of his psychology notebook, but it didn’t look like he had read a word in a long time.

“You awake?” Bruce asked, sitting in front of him.

Tim was slow to move, but he ended up raising his head. “Uh?”

Bruce squinted at him. “Tim?”

“Was I phasing out again?” The piece of toast fell from his mouth onto his open textbook and he looked at it. “Oh no. My bread.”

Bruce stared, cocking his head to one side. “Tim?”

“My bread fell,” Tim said again. “I was eating and it fell.”

“Are you alright?”

Tim looked up. “I’m tired.”

“Did you sleep?” Now that Bruce paid attention, he could see the dark circles under his son’s eyes, the slouch in his shoulders, how exhausted he clearly was. “At all? In your life?”

Tim chuckled and rub his eyes. “Yeah. Yeah.”

“You sit around all day. Don’t tell me you got so tired just doing that.” Worry found its way in Bruce’s eyes, the feeling that he was doing something wrong again, that he was letting his son waste himself away to tiredness, and that it was his fault. He tried to dismiss the feeling, knowing it was selfish to bring it back to him, but it gnawed at his stomach relentlessly. “What’s going on, Tim? Can I help?”

“No,” Tim said, quicker than he had meant to. Bruce sat back in his chair, and Tim swore under his breath. “No, you can’t help. But it’s not your fault if you can’t, is what I meant.”

Bruce took a second to think it over, trying to find a way to call it bullshit without _actually_ calling it bullshit. He thought about what Dick had told him. “So, you’re not going to class anymore?”

Tim made a face. “You don’t have to do this.”

“I do,” Bruce said. “I pay your tuition, remember?”

“I didn’t ask you to do that. I can pay it myself, if that’s the problem.”

Bruce frowned, shook his head. “You know it’s not.”

“Then why do you care?” Tim asked.

Bruce looked at him for a while. Bruce had heard that sentence a million times. And yet, Tim had a way of asking _why do you care_. Dick asked it venomously, when he pretended Bruce’s opinion of him didn’t matter, when he was trying to hurt and they both ended up bleeding. Cass asked it off-handedly, when she was teasing, because she knew he did and she didn’t need this kind of reassurance. Damian asked it angrily, not really knowing why he asked that or the impact of his words, just repeating what he had heard others say. But Tim, Tim had a way of _genuinely_ asking, Tim had a way of shyly being curious of his and other people’s feelings. When Tim said _“why do you care”_ , he meant it in the kindest way. He just wanted someone to give him an explanation as to why anyone would take interest in him. Where Dick and Damian voluntarily tried to hurt, Tim broke Bruce’s heart without even noticing it.

Bruce reached to close Tim’s textbook, pushing the piece of bread away.

“Unrelated, but I never took you on those driving lessons I said I’d give you.”

Tim’s face lit up at his father’s unexpected answer. “Now?”

Bruce extended his palms. “Unless you have something better to do.”

Tim glared at his textbooks for a millisecond and shook his head. This wasn’t something Bruce would ask twice. “Let’s go.”

“Let’s go,” Bruce repeated, a little smile playing around his mouth.

They headed to the garage, where Bruce threw Tim the keys of his (future) mini Aston Martin. They got in the small car together, Tim anxiously sitting behind the wheel as Bruce settled in the passenger seat. It wasn’t Tim’s first time driving, as Dick had tried to teach him a little before, but Bruce’s presence next to him made him nervous. He wanted to do well. He wished he could have asked Dick to teach him better, so he could just drive off and see his father’s impressed face. But he didn’t. He was a mediocre driver at best. He started the car, sweating on the keys, hoping this would go alright. He drove off in short bursts, trying not to get scared of the sudden speed the car could go to. Bruce had offered it to him for his last birthday, as per ‘tradition’. When they reached fifteen, they got cars. Since then, Tim had learned this _‘tradition’_ had just been Bruce’s way to force Dick to accept the Jeep he had impulse bought him, but Tim didn’t complain.

They finally made it out of the garage and reached the huge gardens, who made it easier to drive around. Bruce gave him tips and often had to hold the wheel to put the car back in its place, but the stress disappeared as quickly as it had appeared, Tim relaxing with every burst of his dad’s laughter every time Tim made a strangled noise as the car left his control. By the end of the first hour, Tim had gotten the hang of controlling speed and brakes, but he still had a lot of trouble with realizing how much space the car took up and what it meant when he had to turn or stop the car somewhere. Bruce had told him all about how it had been different with Dick— Dick was good with projecting himself into space, and he was a champion at parking and sharp turns, but that it took him a good year of regularly driving to control his speed properly.

Tim was focused on parking next to the flowers without crushing said flowers. Bruce helped him turn the wheel, and they stopped, the car at a weird angle and a dozen roses short, but they stopped.

“When did Dick and Cass know how to drive?” Tim asked, trying to sound conversational.

“Cass knew how to drive much younger than most people”, Bruce answered, missing the hint. “I taught Dick when he was around fifteen.”

Tim laughed bitterly. “Almost a whole year before me. Of course.”    

Bruce turned his head to his son, frowning. “Tim? What’s wrong?”

Tim shook his head a little. He took a breath and turned to his father, meeting his eyes. His smile crept back on his face. “Nothing. Don’t worry about it.”

“Too late,” Bruce answered. “Tell me. Your _I’m okay_ face doesn’t fool me.”

Tim clicked his tongue. “It’s just…”

“Is this about college?” Bruce asked when Tim didn’t finish his sentence. He was trying to put it all together, detective work to find what was really bothering the boy. “Does it have anything to do with it?”

“I just don’t know what I’m doing,” Tim blurted out. It all went out at the same time from here, words heavy on his heart flowing out, safe in the silence of the small car and the worry of his father. “I don’t know what I’m doing. I went to college early because I was a good student, and I _could_ power through college and have a degree in a few years but it feels like I’m missing all the fun, and I don’t really know anyone but Jason and Dick because everyone is way older than me, and I don’t even know why I’m studying what I’m studying.” Tim caught his breath, and Bruce stayed silent, waiting for his son to get it all out. “And it just always feels like I’m running to catch up but I’ll never… I’ll never be as good, you know what I mean? Dick is infuriating to have as a brother because everything always works out for him, and Cass made the _best_ of a worst situation and she’s off to be exactly the woman she dreamt to be, and Damian is still young but he’s your biological son so he’s already ten steps ahead of me, and I’m left with nothing but a brilliant mind working toward nothing and a competition I don’t even want to be in but I’m busting my ass off to win anyway but I’m never going to win because I’m Tim Drake and I’m always just shy away from working things out and I’m always saying the wrong thing at the wrong time and I know it feels ridiculous and I shouldn’t complain because I’m luckier than most but I don’t feel like it. I don’t feel lucky at all.”

Somewhere, at some point, Tim had started crying. Tears were flowing out of his eyes, rolling on his cheeks silently. Tim seemed to realize he had lost the careful control he kept on his emotions a second too late, and he wiped his tears away furiously, looking through the window to avoid Bruce’s eyes.

“I’m sorry if I made it feel like you couldn’t talk to me about this.” Bruce asked, feeling his heart break in pieces for Tim, who had been bottling this up for a while. Tim sniffed, his shoulders shaking. It was pointless to dry his cheeks again, because the tears didn’t seem to stop. “I’m sorry, Tim.”

“I want to disappear,” Tim whispered, barely audible. Bruce was being careful so he heard, and he extended his hand to turn his son’s face toward him. Tim’s lips were trembling, and his eyes were still pointedly turned away.

Bruce held Tim’s face up with two fingers under his chin. “Look at me.” He didn’t have to ask twice, Tim’s shy eyes moving until they locked with Bruce’s angry ones. Tim didn’t fear his father’s anger— not like this. He knew it was anger at the world, anger at everything that had led to this point, as if if he had been more careful, he could have stopped it all before life got in the way of Tim’s happiness. They both know there was nothing he could do. Life had found a way to put a solid block on Tim’s joy a long time ago. “We’re going to sort this out, alright?”

Tim nodded weakly, because he didn’t know what else to say. He didn’t have the heart to blame Bruce for all the times it had been him who had accidentally picked at his scabs, for all the times the competition between siblings had started with Bruce’s problems getting in the way of a healthier family. Bruce was trying. Tim knew that wasn’t enough, but he also knew Bruce was the only loving father he would ever have, and maybe it would get better. Maybe he would learn to deal with it in a way that didn’t make everyone sad.

Bruce looked in Tim’s eyes for a more honest answer and tried not to take personally the lack of faith in his son’s eyes. “We’re going to put the brakes on college. You don’t have to go anymore.”

“I need to go,” Tim answered, shaking his head. “What else is there to do?”

“Plenty of things. I know you want a big and bright future for yourself, but forcing yourself through this is not worth it. Not when it put you in such a state,” Bruce insisted. “I know what I’m talking about. I know what it feels to beat yourself up with the _I should be grateful it’s not worse_ stick, and I know where it took me.” Bruce let go of Tim’s chin and the boy dropped his head, looking at his knees. “It took me in a place where I purposely made it worse so people wouldn’t feel like telling me _it’s going to get better because it’s not that bad_.” Bruce was struggling to find the right words, to find words that wouldn’t expose his open wounds too much, but that would make Tim feel like he could be honest with him. A dangerous game that he was very good at. “I’m not going to tell you my entire life story to make a point, but it was bad. I hurt myself, I hurt others, I…” Tim was looking back up discreetly, the sight of his father losing his game face too rare to miss on. “I did stupid shit. I regret it now, I’ll probably regret it forever, and I have the scars to show for it. The least I can do is warn you away from this path.”

“I’m not like you,” Tim said, unable to resist trying to tell Bruce he would be fine. _I’m not like you_ , he wanted to repeat, but he wasn’t so sure about what was so different he wouldn’t end up like Bruce. “I’m going to be fine.”

“I used to say that too,” Bruce answered, his eyes clouded and his face dark. Tim nodded again, for lack of other things to say. “You need to talk to someone about these things— someone that’s not me,” Bruce clarified. “Not because I don’t want to hear it,” he said quickly, “but someone that will know how to deal with it in the way you deserve. Someone that can help. I’m not sure I can.”

“Thank you,” Tim said. Bruce looked at him with question marks in his eyes. “For being honest.”

Bruce took a sharp intake of breath and waved it off. “And you need to take time for yourself. To find something you like doing. To find a new way to make everything work for you. You have the opportunity to not do anything for as long as you want it. It’s not something everyone have. You need to make the best of it.” Tim nodded again, more strongly this time, like he believed it. Bruce gave him a little smile. “You’re Tim Drake. You’re brilliant, and a hard worker, and a good kid, and you’re almost as stubborn as I am.” Tim chuckled, and Bruce ruffled his hair. “You don’t need to follow your brother’s steps and try to catch up. And you don’t need to share my blood to be worth anything I have to offer you. It’s good, Tim. It’s all good. You’re the only person getting in the way of your success, alright? No one can tell you _shit_. Take your time. You’re going to do great.”

Tim found it in his heart to smile, surprised at hearing all of this and knowing Bruce _meant it_. Surprised that someone could look at him and see all this. He took a deep breath, wiping his cheeks with the back of his hand again, drying the last of his tears. He put his hands on the wheel and stared ahead, thinking that maybe it would get better. Maybe he _did_ have all the time in the world.

“Let’s go home,” he said, pressing his foot on the speed pedal.

“Let’s,” Bruce answered, and Tim drove away, his hands steadier than they’d ever been.

 

***

 

Dick stopped his car in front of Gotham U. It had been hours since they’d left the manor, Jason in the passenger seat, silent and tense as they both tried to avoid talking about the elephant in the room. The fight Dick and his father had just had wasn’t that extreme: they had fought more violently before, but now that Dick’s emotions had died down, he felt foolish and embarrassed that everyone else had heard it. The awkwardness had left when they’d reach Lee’s building. Roy had been resting there for the past day, and Jason was already missing him. Dick didn’t take it personally, knowing it would be misplaced offense, and trying to rationalize the situation by imagining Wally in Roy’s place. Boyfriend or not, he would have ran to Wally’s side all the same. So Dick had stayed with Lee in the living room as Jason made sure Roy felt better. She had told them he needed at least a full week of not leaving his bed, and two weeks of proper rest before he could start living normally again. She had waited until Jason was back with them to tell him that so far, he’d been high on pain meds enough that he hadn’t gone through withdrawal yet, but that if he didn’t get the drugs he’d been looking to buy soon enough, he would inevitably start showing symptoms. Being a doctor, she didn’t encourage doing drugs, but she had told them he couldn’t handle vomiting and sweating and being sick while his body healed from three stab wounds, and that he should keep taking a bit more morphine than necessary until he could take it. Jason wasn’t happy about any of it, but he knew more about this kind of problems than Dick did, and he sounded like he understood everything. Lee had helped Roy to Dick’s car, making Jason swear he would stay by Roy’s side for as long as needed, and making Dick swear he would make Bruce smooth everything up for Roy regarding classes and his scholarship. Roy didn’t need any more punishments than he already had. The two boys had hastily promised, and they’d been on their ways, with bottles of pills in Jason’s bag and Roy giggling alone, lying down in the backseat.

Jason had been focused on Roy the entire ride to university, making sure he didn’t slip from the seats. Dick was driving as carefully as he could, and they had made it alive. Dick had stopped right in front of the dorms, not caring about how illegal it was to park there. He’d pay whatever fee, as long as he didn’t have to carry Roy longer than necessary. He didn’t want the whole campus to see the mess either, thinking it wouldn’t do anyone any good. Jason agreed.

“I’ll see if there’s anyone in the hallway, and I’ll come back to help,” Dick said as he walked out the car, leaving Jason inside. He walked to the front door and looked around. On a Sunday afternoon before midterm week, the halls were desert, which was lucky for them. Dick walked back to the car and they helped Roy out, wincing when he did, trying to carry him without tearing his stitches out.

 “It’d be much easier if we could take him to a hospital,” Dick muttered.

“You know we can’t,” Jason answered harshly. “There’s no need to go over it again.”

Dick sighed and they reached the elevator. He gave Roy a small smile, not really knowing how to behave around the redhead. He didn’t even know him, and there he was, trying to think of a way to get Bruce to help him without Roy feeling bad about it. He had already talked about the possibility of letting Roy get some rest at the manor, where he would have everything he needed, and both Jason and Roy had acted like this had been the worst idea in the history of worst idea. Dick could understand where they came from, and so he hadn’t insisted. He was never truly comfortable offering Wayne Charity, but he had directly benefited from it and was always upset when people waved it off. He wanted to insist. _I know, I know it sounds bad, but they can help— I can help, trust me, I can make it better, I can help I can help I can help_.

They walked out the elevator at the right floor and stumbled to Roy’s room. They put him down in bed, Jason moving his desk so he wouldn’t have to get up to get whatever he needed.

“Do you need anything else?” Jason asked, hovering over Roy. He was worried, but he acted all practical, cold and detached, knowing being all touchy feely wouldn’t make Roy heal quicker. It wouldn’t make the pain go away. Jason had too much examples were practicality had saved lives long before sick worry had. This situation wasn’t any different.

Roy shook his head, trying to find a good position, one that didn’t hurt too much. “I’m going to sleep. Keep the pills near.”

Jason clicked his tongue. “I’m keeping the pills with me. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

Roy grunted but didn’t say anything else, and he waved his hand at them. “Get out.”

They did, leaving Roy to his high and his nap. Jason dragged his hands through his hair, sighing. He gestured to the door on the other side of the corridor with his chin, and Dick followed as Jason unlocked his room. Dick couldn’t keep himself from noticing the tense set of the man’s shoulders, and as Jason sat down on the nearest chair, Dick stopped his front of him, dropping his hands on his arms. He slowly moved up, pressing the tip of his fingers against Jason’s skin and making slow movements to ease the tension and nerves. Jason closed his eyes, leaning into the touch, relaxing against his will.

“Where did you learn that?” Jason whispered, trying not to show this impromptu massage was the best thing anyone had ever done to him in years.

“You need to learn how to relax your muscles when you’re an athlete,” Dick answered with a smile, knowing how effective his hands were. “I learned that a while ago, when I did gymnastics regularly.”

Jason nodded, allowing himself to do just that, relax, to believe for a moment that everything was fine and he had plenty of times to enjoy whatever Dick gave to him. Dick pressed his thumb harder a little above Jason’s left shoulder blade and Jason made a noise of pleasure he didn’t manage to hold back in time. It made Dick stop, looking at Jason as a slow blush crept up his cheeks. Jason didn’t seem fazed by the electric change in the atmosphere, and looked steadily back at Dick.

It took them a full minute of staring before Jason moved his hands up Dick’s back, pulling him in for a kiss. They locked lips aggressively, Dick’s grip on Jason moving to his hips as he clumsily stepped forward, one of his leg between Jason’s open ones, almost sitting in his lap. Jason kept pushing Dick to him, raising his head to kiss him fully, his tongue in the other man’s mouth, his fingers leaving trails of fire on Dick’s skin. At some point, Dick had given up on standing, and was sitting on one of Jason’s thighs, his body moving against his boyfriend’s despite himself, his crotch rubbing against Jason’s stomach, his knee pressing on Jason’s hard on. They barely gave themselves time to breathe, too busy grinding on each other and sucking on the other’s lips. Neither of them knew who moaned first, but soon enough they were both swallowing each other’s sighs and biting lips as they found a more pleasurable rhythm. Dick felt Jason’s hand leave his lower back and he opened his eyes, cutting off a kiss to look at him.

“Can I?” Jason asked. He had whispered, but Dick felt like his two little words had resonated all across the building. “It’s okay if you say no. We can stop there,” Jason added with a small kiss.

Dick knew where Jason’s hand was now, and he thought about it for a second. He wanted this. Six months ago, it would have seemed wild to be in this situation— the only times he had ever been close to this was drunk at parties, and he barely remembered any of it. To have this with Jason, so soon, but to trust him so entirely was new and weird and exhilarating and impossibly _simple_. He wanted it, and here it was, and he could just take that and it would be fine.

“You can,” Dick simply said, quickly followed by more kissing. He didn’t want to stare at Jason as he did it. He heard the noise of his zipper opening and suddenly nothing really mattered but Jason’s hand. Dick had been quickly thinking of how he could make it even and where he was willing to go, but now he couldn’t think of anything else. They kept kissing, slower because Dick was distracted, and then not at all because Jason cocked his head to kiss his neck. Jason’s hand moved, and Dick heard another zipper opening, and guessed Jason could take care of himself. His fingers were back fast enough, and then they both couldn’t focus on anything at all that wasn’t Jason’s moving hand.

 

 

***

 

Bruce heard Dick’s car arrive to the manor and he tensed over his class notes. He knew they had to talk, and he knew this was happening now. It was just a little before dinner, and he had promised Alfred he wouldn’t ruin it again with awkwardness and petty silence. Bruce contemplated moving from the living room to his office to work to avoid Dick as long as he could, but going up meant Damian would hear him and invade the room and stand on his desk and mess up his papers again, and moving to the kitchen table meant having to handle Alfred’s disappointed stare, and Tim was working out downstairs, so he couldn’t even use the cave that he initially had set up as a place he could be alone and rest. Obviously no Wayne kid in their right mind would have let Bruce have a minute of calm and quiet. And so he stayed in the living room, going over tomorrow’s essay questions. He never had the same exam twice, thinking it was too easy. Everyone told him he was too harsh, but he personally thought he was being fair, so he never changed his teaching method. Dick was here to be the good cop. Bruce felt a pang of bitterness as his brain supplied him with thoughts of _how long until he’s not here to be anything at all anymore_ , and he closed his computer a bit more aggressively than he would have liked to.

Dick was here a second later, leaning against the door. “Hey, dad.”

Bruce raised his head, looking at his son’s face. He was grinning, and his cheeks were red. He looked weirdly happy. Bruce recognized the spark in his eye and raised an eyebrow. “I’m going to assume Roy was fine enough if Jason was this happy to see you,” he said, his serious face slowly moving into a teasing one.

Dick blushed and waved Bruce’s remark away, not quite managing to hide his smile. “Yes, well,” he just ended up saying, clearing his throat. There was no point in denying whatever Bruce had read on his face. Bruce was good at this. They knew each other better than that.

“I’m happy for you,” Bruce felt like adding. He let a second pass. “I talked to Tim,” he said, clearing his throat.

Dick shifted his weight on his other foot, uncomfortable but curious. “Did you now?”

“He’s going to pause college for a while. Stop and think about what he wants to do. He had a pretty severe breakdown a few hours ago.”

Dick nodded like he wasn’t surprised. “I saw it coming.”

“I didn’t,” Bruce answered.

“Because you weren’t looking.”

“Because I thought he was stronger than that.”

Dick scoffed. “Tim is stronger than you think he is.”

“I know,” Bruce said, frowning. “I didn’t think he’d need _me_ to sort himself out, is all.” Bruce looked up at his son, passing a hand through his hair. “I don’t need to hear it again, Dick. I’m warning you before you start ranting.”

“If I want to rant, I will,” Dick said with a cold smile. “Nothing you can tell me will stop me from doing exactly that.”

Bruce nodded, sighing. “I spoke with Damian, too. We sorted things out, too.”

“Did it went well?”

Bruce looked around and lowered his voice. “If he asks for baby pictures, tell him we lost them.”

“ _Dad!_ ” Dick yelled.

Bruce raised his hands. “Shh. This was a complicated discussion and we’ll have a more… complete one when he’s older. He’s too young for this right now.”

Dick opened his mouth and closed it. “Whatever. I’m not doing this.” He turned around, heading back to where he was coming from. He stopped when Bruce said his name, and turned back. “What?”

“I haven’t talked to you yet,” Bruce said, twisting his fingers nervously. “We still have to have a conversation.”

Dick raised one eyebrow. “Do we?”

Bruce took in a breath. “You can leave. If you want.”

“Gee. Thanks.”

Bruce clicked his tongue, wanting to get annoyed and trying to control it. Now was not the time for his emotions to start boarding yet another rollercoaster. He was trying to do good. To do better. He had no right to get pissed at Dick’s disdain. It was hard to take it and admit he deserved it, but he had to try. He didn’t have any other choice, anyway. “You know I…” he almost said the word and changed his mind. “Tim. Damian. You know I’m taking care of them, right? You didn’t mean what you said? Not that strongly.”

“Is that a question?” Dick asked.

Bruce seemed to think it over. “Yes.” _No_ , he had wanted to say, but realized this was one of those times where he needed his golden boy to be honest, to speak his mind, to let go of the weight on his heart. Dick was always doing his utmost for the family to go well. He could be petty all he wanted, when it mattered, he would never be selfish. If he didn’t think Bruce could take care of his kids properly, he would take them away from the house himself.

“I know you’re taking care of them,” Dick answered cautiously. “I know you love them, too.” The forbidden word made Bruce flinch, and Dick pointed his finger at him. “See? I know you do. That was never in question. But until you refuse to say it, I don’t see why we should be the ones suffering through believing it.” Bruce closed his eyes like it hurt and rubbed his eyelids. “I know you’re trying, but you’re not trying hard enough. I…” Dick stepped closer, trying to soften every blows. He was past wanting to hurt his father. They both had hurt enough for a lifetime. They always came back to each other. They _always_ found their way back. “I love you, dad. I do. I’m not leaving because I’ve had enough. I’m not leaving to punish you.”

Bruce felt his heart tighten in his chest, and wondered how it was possible that this felt so _physically_ painful. That the inside of his chest was so sensible when his body wasn’t. He wondered why it was that all the little scars on his body held no painful memory. He wondered why, of all the time he had spent finding new ways he could split his skin open, the one thing he hadn’t found had been pain. He didn’t understand how that worked. How he could have so much hurt inside of him, but how letting blood flow hadn’t helped. How opening his skin with desperation as if all the bad and all the dark inside him would spill out and leave him empty had never worked. Nothing he could do to himself ever hurt. He had too much ache in places he couldn’t reach to ever have pain left for everything that gave visible scars.

“You punishing me. That’s what it feels like,” he finally managed.

Dick reached for his arm, putting his hand there in reassurance. “It’s not. It’s quite the opposite, actually. Five years ago, leaving this place wasn’t even a _dream_ I could have. But I trust you now. Everyone does. You’re doing better than you ever have.”

Bruce thought of how mean he had been to Clark a few hours ago, how afraid he still was of anyone who wasn’t the three precious people that knew him inside out coming close. “Right.”

“It’s true,” Dick insisted. “I’m not leaving yet. We have a year. But I’m not staying here forever either, and it shouldn’t be anyone’s fault if you didn’t realize that sooner.”

“I realized it.”

“But you didn’t prepare for it,” Dick said, smiling a little. “It’s alright. It’s going to go well, you’ll see. I’m optimistic about this.”

“One of us has to be the optimistic ray of sunshine.”

Dick shrugged, but his happy smile was definitely back. “You know I’m always that one. I don’t mind keeping it up for a little while, until you learn to be your own optimistic ray of sunshine.” Bruce grimaced, and Dick chuckled. “Alright. Maybe you’ll never be that. But I’m not leaving forever, and I’m not giving up on you. You’re my dad. I couldn’t even do that if I tried.”

Bruce felt the need to cry again, and he pushed it back. This wouldn’t be necessary, and it would make things worse. He took a deep breath, and gave his son a sharp nod. This was also settled for now. He wanted this week-end to end. He would have paid a lot of money to already be at the end of next week, when everyone would be in holidays and the fight he had had with every single one of his kids in the house was long gone. He hoped no other angry spark would burn everyone’s efforts down again, but he doubted it. Cassandra was coming home in five days. They would all behave for her return. She was their saving grace. Bruce looked at his notes, and back at Dick.

“Unrelated, but I need Jason’s number.”

Dick froze. “You what now?”

“I need Jason’s number.”

“What for?” Dick asked, not sure if he should be worried. “I’m not 15 anymore. You don’t need to track down everyone I talk to to make sure they’re not going to kidnap and kill me.”

Bruce chuckled. “Not why I asked. You’re old enough for me to stay out of your business.” Bruce thought back of the evening he had spent looking for _‘Jason Todd’_ in his files to see if anything bad would come up and whether or not he had to sabotage his son’s relationship and stared ahead. He decided to gloss over this. “I want to ask his permission to add a part of his scholarship essay to tomorrow’s exam.”

Dick blinked several times. “Can you do that?”

“If he gives me permission to use it, yes,” Bruce said, giving Dick a one shoulder shrug.

“You’re going to have him pass an exam on his own essay?”  

Bruce gave Dick a glance. “Of course not. That would be too easy.” Dick rolled his eyes. “I’ll have something different for him. But I reread his essay recently, and it just hit me how interesting his angle on victimology, the myth of free will and social oppression was. It’s a good text to put opposite someone like Bentham and Durkheim. He disagrees with both,” Bruce continued, ready to speak for a good half an hour about how great and smart Jason Todd was. “But he does it in a respectful and insightful way. He knows what he’s talking about, but is also self-aware of the possible lack of detachment his essay might suffer from. It’s very humble and very driven at the same time.” Dick was looking at him, a little frown on his face. “Anyway. Can I have his number?”

“You can call him from my phone,” Dick answered slowly.

“I’m not going to steal your boyfriend,” Bruce said, rolling his eyes.

“You sound very passionate about him.”

Bruce glared. “I’m very passionate about the way he translate the hardship he’s been through into raw sociologic material. Give me your phone.”

Dick muttered under his breath but handed it anyway, punching in Jason’s number. He changed his mind at the last moment and put it on the table between them, pressing the speaker button. Bruce didn’t comment. Dick looked at the time, judging that Jason would probably be at work and that he wouldn’t be able to answer.

“I can text hi—” Dick started, and he was cut off by his boyfriend’s voice. “Hey, Jason. I thought you were at work.”

 _“On break,”_ Jason answered. _“You sound disappointed. If you thought I was at work, why did you call me?”_

Bruce cleared his throat. “Jason? It’s Bruce.”

_“Uh… Hi?”_

“Hi. I won’t bother you long, I just wanted to have your permission to use a part of the essay you wrote for the Wayne scholarship.”

Jason made a chocked noise on the phone. _“My essay? The one I sent in?”_

“The one you sent in. I find it really fascinating, and it would be a great text for tomorrow’s essay question.” Jason didn’t answer anything, so Bruce kept talking. “Obviously you’d get something else, but if I want to use your words, I need you to agree first.”

_“You read that thing?”_

Dick clicked his tongue. This was worse than the Roy thing. “Of course he did,” he interrupted. “It’s the _Wayne_ scholarship. He reads them all.”

Jason was silent again for a little while. _“I’m on speaker? Why didn’t you give him my number directly?”_ Bruce extended his palms to Dick, and Dick pushed his hands away, annoyed. _“Whatever. I… Uh. Yes. Of course. I’d be honored.”_

Bruce smiled. “Perfect. Thank you, Jason. And remind me to ask you about that essay, I have a few things I’d like to develop with you if you don’t mind. It was brilliant, really. Congratulations.”

Bruce couldn’t see him from there, but Jason was _beaming_. He was standing against a wall outside of his work place, a cigarette stuck in his mouth, clutching his phone. He knew his essay was good, he knew he deserved the scholarship he was getting, and he was also vaguely aware Bruce Wayne _did_ read all the applications. But having Bruce Wayne on the phone, telling him (him!) that he was brilliant, and that he was worth putting up against sociologists who had made history… This was different. This felt a different kind of good. This felt like _success_. He knew it was foolish, and that he had been successful before, that the mere fact he was going to college and got amazing grades while juggling several jobs and a social life was a _tour de force_. But nothing had mattered so much to him before that, before getting the validation he had waited for for too long. He blushed, feeling dumb and a little ridiculous.

 _“Thank you,”_ he finally squeaked. _“It means a lot.”_

It was Bruce who looked embarrassed, now, and Dick took the phone back in his hand. “Anything else?”

“No,” Bruce answered. “Go away.”

“Thanks,” Dick said, and turned off speaker, leaving the living room. Bruce just heard him ask, “Still alive, baby?” and he shook his head with a smile.

He turned his head when he felt a presence behind him, and looked up at Alfred, who was looking at him in the kitchen. His butler gave him a smile and a wink, and Bruce clicked his tongue, trying to wave off the niceness he wasn’t comfortable with. He wasn’t able to push back the little burst of happiness in his stomach, though, and he opened his computer again. Now that he had sorted the bad things, and that his T.A. was back on his side as he’d been before, he could go back to his work in peace. He had fifteen seconds of peace before Damian came barreling down the stairs, followed by a screaming Tim, followed by a panicked Dick who was trying to understand why his brothers were suddenly screaming _murder_. Bruce gave them a full minute of running around before he realized this wasn’t something Dick could handle alone, and he sighed as he closed his computer again. Criminology could wait. Right now, the Wayne kids needed a dad. And Bruce was happy to be theirs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> shout out #2 hummy. as i type this u haven't read the chapter yet but i can safely say i already loved ur livetweet
> 
> (see u soon everyone i hope you enjoyed this chapter and the jaydick racy part. and thank u len for beta-ing this same racy part. we all had fun)


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we have reached 200 subscriptions and nearly 500 kudos you guys!! thank u so much for all the love you're giving this story <3  
> (and i want to publicly apologize to hummy for not giving them desk sex this chapter either. I SWEAR IT'LL COME EVENTUALLY)
> 
> anyway hope you'll like this one, the next one is going to be super fun i think, so stay around for more 

Bruce stumbled out of his bedroom, rubbing his eyes. Mornings were always a hardship. He didn’t really know why, as he had endured through a lot worse than just waking up in the morning, but things were how they were. Hearing Dick happily whistle in the bathroom every day made it worse, as Bruce had long ago decided that if _he_ had trouble waking up in the morning, everybody should have trouble waking up in the morning. He walked down the stairs to the kitchen and stopped when Tim opened his bedroom door.

“Good morning,” Tim said happily.

Bruce looked at him. The effort of moving his mouth and talking was almost too much, but he pulled through. “I thought you quit college. Why are you up so early on a Monday morning?”

Tim looked back at his father, a grin on his face. “I just set my alarm to see you go when I could go back to sleep.”

Tim hurriedly closed the door before Bruce’s slipper hit him in the face. He succeeded, and the shoe bounced back on the door. Bruce was crouching to put it back down when a sudden _weight_ fell on his back and he almost fell flat on his face. Damian had jumped from the stairs directly onto his shoulders, and was already loudly talking in his hear about something Bruce didn’t care enough to listen.

“Stop shouting,” Bruce said, considering dropping his kid on the floor and going back to bed.

Damian put his little hands on Bruce’s head. “You should ask Tim to open the door again. He doesn’t know I’m here and won’t expect an attack, and I can hit him right in the face.”

“ _I KNOW YOU’RE HERE,_ ” Tim shouted from his room.

Bruce moved forward, pulling Damian from his shoulders into his arm so he wouldn’t attack, but also so that he would get a hug from his smallest son. There were some things that could make mornings better. This was one of them. Damian indulged him and wrapped his arms around his neck, letting himself be carried to the breakfast table. Alfred greeted them, putting a plate of hot waffles in the center of the table, and dropping a giant cup of coffee next to Bruce’s glass.

“Good morning Alfred,” Damian said enthusiastically, grabbing a waffle and biting into it as Bruce put him down on his seat.

“Good morning, Master Damian,” Alfred answered. “May I suggest using a fork and knife?”

“You can… suggest it,” Damian said.

Bruce tore a little piece of waffle and threw it at his son. “I’m throwing the fork next if you talk to Alfred like that again.”

Damian didn’t argue and grabbed his fork, muttering as he started eating his food appropriately. Bruce burned his tongue on coffee three times, but decided he was a brave man and needed coffee in his bloodstream before his tongue healed, and drank it all in less than a few minutes. Five minutes of silence later, he rubbed his eyes again.

“Ok. I’m alive.”

“Good morning,” Alfred, Damian and Dick said at the same time.

Bruce looked around the table. “When did you get here?” He asked Dick.

“Two minutes ago,” Dick answered, pealing an apple. “Thank you for noticing.”

Bruce gave him a cold smile and started eating. Breakfasts were far from his favorite meals with the family. Damian stole everyone’s food because he never waited for Alfred to remake pancakes or waffles, Dick always fought with Alfred because he wanted to be the one making his own breakfast, Bruce just considered eating in his room alone, and usually, Tim had to dodge whatever Damian felt like throwing at him. Bruce being mostly useless at this hour, meant Alfred alone had to make food, keep Dick from making his food, keep Damian from throwing the food Alfred didn’t have time to make, and do that fast enough that they wouldn’t _all_ be late. One could have thought it was easier without Tim, because Damian had no one to attack, but it actually just gave Dick more room to argue about pressing his own damn orange juice.

“Master Dick,” Alfred said aggressively, holding the pressing machine over his head, “I appreciate your insistence because I know it comes from a good place, but for the hundredth time, I want you to let me do this.”

Dick tried to take the machine back, but it would require hurting Alfred, and he wasn’t ready for this kind of commitment to the _‘let Alfred live his life and take care of himself first’_ movement. “Let it go. Technically I’m your boss, so give me back this pressing machine.”

“I will give it back when you start _cleaning_ after you make food for yourself, if you want so badly for me to, and I quote, _‘chill already’_ ,” Alfred answered, taking a few steps back.

Bruce turned around just to catch Dick’s defeated face and laugh at him as he sat back down. He didn’t want to be here for the next disaster, and so he got up, refilling his cup of coffee one last time. “Don’t be late,” he told Dick, pointing a menacing finger at him. “Damian,” he said, turning to his other son, “Finish your breakfast, I want you dressed up and ready for school in ten minutes.”

“I’m not leaving until another half hour,” Damian answered, pouting.

Bruce shrugged. “If you think that way you’ll be late, and then you’ll end up like Dick.”

“I know. That’s the goal,” Damian answered, and Dick put up his fist. They bumped knuckles, and Bruce rolled his eyes.

The morning went on as usual, with Damian screaming he didn’t want to shower and flooding the bathroom, and Bruce and Dick leaving Alfred to deal with this as they left for college together. It was rare enough that they could leave at the same time, and Bruce was kind of happy about it. He wanted to get back the easiness of being alone with Dick, and he didn’t know where to begin. Maybe it would come again with time. Maybe he didn’t have to overthink everything. Dick sounded just fine. Dick acted like nothing had changed. They had talked the day before, but Bruce was still uncomfortable, randomly reminding himself every hour or so that his son would leave. It hurt just as much every single time.

They spent most of the ride small talking, but Dick could see his father’s heart wasn’t in it. They split up when they reached Gotham U, Dick trotting to the dorms after Bruce made him swear he wouldn’t give Jason any hints on what the exam would be about. Dick didn’t wait to watch Bruce go to his office, not bothering to make sure he would be alright. Dick needed to learn how to let his father go, and to stop arranging everything as best as he could so that Bruce wouldn’t have to deal with it. Dick knew Bruce thought it was easy for him, but it wasn’t. The itch to hang around his father and make sure he, as a son, wasn’t being disappointing or hurtful was almost insurmountable, but the thought of kissing Jason in the few minutes they had before class won him over.

He knocked on Jason’s door and waited, hoping his boyfriend wasn’t gone yet. He was about to give up when he heard a loud noise from the room in front of his, and Dick turned around, opening Roy’s door. A chair was on the floor, and Jason and Roy had frozen on Dick’s arrival. Roy was halfway through sitting up and Jason was holding the little bottle of pills way above his head, his other hand on his friend’s shoulder.

“Hi,” Dick said, giving Jason or himself an encouraging smile. “Am I bothering?”

“Yes,” Roy answered. He looked at Jason, wincing at the pain of his sitting up effort. “Give me those.”

“You had enough,” Jason said coldly. “I told you I wouldn’t encourage this, and I’m not going to. You know you’re going to lose the fight, so sit back down and suffer in silence.”

Roy sneered at him. “I’ll run away while you’re in class.”

“Good luck making it to the door,” Jason said, backtracking. He put the chair back up, sighed, and sent Dick a nod. “Hey, you.”

“Ugh, don’t do that here,” Roy said, falling back on his pillow.

“You’re just jealous,” Jason answered, slipping the pills in his pocket.

Roy stared at him. “Yes. Where is the misunderstanding here?”

Jason sighed, and ruffled his friend’s hair. “What about this girl you talked to me about last time?”

“Kori?” Jason nodded. Roy made a face. “Yeah. What am I gonna do from here? She’s probably already with someone else.”

Dick tiptoed uncomfortably. “Maybe this is the wrong time.”

There was a long silence as Roy and Jason looked at each other, and Roy ended up shrugging a little. “It’s not personal.” Dick sent him an appreciative smile. There was something in Roy’s eyes, the same thing Jason sometimes had. The need to make it complicated and annoying for everyone around so that it would finally feel like everyone knew what _they_ were going through. Roy had a big mouth, but Dick had known from the start he was kinder than he looked. Life just didn’t go his way very often.

“I talked to Bruce,” Dick said before he forgot. “He’s going to see what he can do to help with your… situation.”

“Right,” Roy answered, uncomfortable and grateful at the same time, two emotions he hated. “Well. Keep me updated.”

Jason packed his bag, shook Roy’s hand and they went on their way. They kissed as they closed the door. Dick held Jason there when they stopped kissing, their faces nearly touching. He brushed his nose against Jason’s, something so simple and natural and kind it made Jason blush crimson.

“Interesting,” Dick whispered, a playing smile on his face as Jason tried to gain his composure back.

Jason pulled back, moving forward, adjusting his bag on his shoulder. “I wasn’t expecting it is all,” he said, clearing his throat. He looked for Dick’s hand and they linked their pinky fingers together. They separated again at the end of the hallway, when more people were around. It wasn’t really that they were hiding, and it wasn’t technically against university rules to date your T.A., but it wasn’t well seen, and Dick didn’t want Jason to have any troubles with his classmates. Maybe later, maybe when it wouldn’t be so new. They walked together to Bruce’s class, talking about work and midterms and random things, enjoying once again the feeling of never running out of things to tell the other.

They had to split up again when they reached the classroom, and Jason headed for an empty seat as Dick took his prime spot next to Bruce’s desk. He was greeted by his father giving him a huge stack of papers. Dick passed it around and let Bruce give Jason his copy of the exam. Jason looked very distressed about it, and Bruce didn’t bother being reassuring. Everyone knew he taught a hard class, and that he had high standards. There was everything to be anxious about. When everyone was sitting and sharing a heavy, panicked silence, Bruce sat on the edge of his desk. He looked at the time, looked back at the student, and in a cool, cold voice, told them they could start.

“You have three hours,” he said, looking around.

“Good luck, guys,” Dick added, because he knew his father wouldn’t. _It’s not about luck,_ he heard him say in his head, almost automatically. It had taken him a long time to stop applying his father’s mentality to himself, but it had never really left. He could detach himself from most of it now, but he would never forget all these times he had just wanted his dad to wish him luck, and all those times he had just been answered with _‘if you worked enough, you don’t need luck’_. Bruce was an expert at requesting only the best from everyone around him when the only reason _he_ could keep up was force of will and an exceptional brain. Bruce was a genius. He could do anything he wanted. The fact his life could be in complete ruins and that he still could have majored in quantum physics had he cared for it was a mystery for everyone involved but him, who had a strong tendency to say that if he could do it, so could his sons. Dick was old enough to know he didn’t _have_ to live by those standards. Not anymore. “See you on the other side,” he added with a smirk, and was satisfied when he saw several students smile back at him. He ignored Bruce’s annoyed stare and sat at the desk, putting his chin in his hand. These would be three long hours. Maybe he could spend them staring at Jason the entire time and no one would notice. He decided it was worth a try.

 

 

***

 

Bruce stopped by the professors’ common room before going back to his office. He didn’t particularly needed to, considering he had a coffee machine in his office, but he was looking for Diana. He didn’t want to act like he was _actually_ looking for her, so he didn’t go straight to her classroom when he’d left his, but if, _if_ , eventually, _by accident_ , she was in the common room when he was… Maybe he could make her understand he would have liked to hear something nice from a friend. Diana was one of those people who kicked his ass when he looked self-pitiful, and she was the only one that he actually encouraged to do so. Diana was wise and beautiful and also scary and he always came to her when he needed good ol’ wisdom, like _stop moping and get the fuck back to work_.

He walked in and found Hal sitting on the floor, working a robotic dog across the room under Dinah’s suspicious eye. Bruce didn’t bother asking and looked around, spotting Cassie on the couch. Diana wasn’t far away, but she was in a deep discussion with a colleague and he didn’t want to bother her. He was about to backtrack and leave, but Oliver raised his head and noticed him.

“Wayne! How are you on this fine Monday morning?”

Bruce looked at him and didn’t answer. The table was full with random professors, all grabbing their last cup of coffee before going back to class. He didn’t care for most of them, and turned around, walking toward the door. Iris and Barry chose this exact moment to walk in, Iris clearing her throat loudly enough that everyone turned. Bruce looked at them, holding hands, a big smile on their face, and it took him less than a second to know what was going on. Everyone else, not as close and not as intent on knowing what was up before having an explanation from the couple themselves, just stared.

Iris took in a breath, and raised her right hand up, palm facing herself. “Just passing on the news to everyone at the same time,” she said, her smile only shaking a little bit.

The light shone on her diamond ring, and the room exploded. Everyone had been betting on Barry proposing soon, and they’d all been very involved as to when and how and what the ring would look like for a good month now. To have all those answers was good news for everyone. The professors and T.A.s who hadn’t been so involved in their relationships were still happy for them, and soon enough people rushed past Bruce to get to the happy couple, hugging and clogging the door, keeping Bruce from _leaving_ just like he wanted to. He heard bits and pieces of conversation, standing there, frozen in place, not knowing what to do or how to react. _Starting a family,_ he heard to his left. _When’s the wedding?_ Dinah said. _(…) Pregnant in a year,_ Oliver joked. Bruce knew there couldn’t be more than twenty people around him, but he felt like he’d been thrown upside down in a giant crowd, and he tiptoed around his colleagues, smiling tightly as he made his way around everyone. He felt someone brushing his wrist and turned to look at Diana, who was standing next to Iris and saw him almost run past. She asked him a silent question and he shook his head at her. A second later, he was out of the room, and he could breathe again.

A second after that, it was like getting knocked right back down. Clark was staring at him, confused, glaring at the professor’s room. “What’s going on?”

Bruce coughed, gave a one shoulder shrug. “Iris and Barry got engaged.”

Clark smiled. “That’s great.”

“Right,” Bruce answered, and walked past Clark, definitely not waiting until the man had something else to say. He heard Clark’s voice behind him and paid no attention to it, focusing on the hallway that would lead him to the calm of his office. Diana would wait. His peace of mind, evidently, would too. He closed his office’s door behind him and took in a breath. He didn’t know what he felt worse about. That Iris and Barry would be getting married, that someone else was having a successful relationship, that he _still_ got upset at the fact that someone wasn’t him, that he knew it was his own damn fault if he wasn’t the happy one, that years had passed and he didn’t quite manage to be carefree about all this anymore. There used to be a time when he _genuinely_ didn’t care about that kind of stuff. He didn’t know when his heart had given up pretending.

He grabbed the stack of exam papers on his desk and walked out of his office. He would be easily found in there, and decided to go to the university’s library. Few professors hanged out there, fewer knew about the table hidden in the East Asian studies section that could be unveiled by moving 5 different bookshelves. It was Bruce’s favorite. Sometimes he would find a student or two there, but it was alright. He trusted everyone who could find that table to be worthy of it, meaning silent and in a studying mood. The rest of the library was often chaos, and this was a safe haven for any lover of dark corners and solitude. Or intimacy, as he found out when he moved the bookshelves and looked at Dick and Jason, linked hands across the table as they both silently studied. Jason was playing with Dick’s fingers as he read his psychology textbook, and Dick’s thumb was stroking his boyfriend’s palm as he scribbled on a notebook. They both looked focused on what they were doing as well as on each other, a healthy balance that looked like it had years in the making. Bruce knew they had gotten to know and learn each other over the past few months, and that they could indulge in that kind of more romantic gestures since only a few days, but it was blatant that the chemistry between the two of them spelled _belonging_ in bolded, underlined letters.

They both raised their heads when they noticed him standing there.

“I’ll find somewhere else,” he just muttered, feeling like every couple on earth was out to get him.

Jason and Dick looked at each other, and they both sat back, letting the other’s hand go. “Sit, sit,” Dick said, moving his papers around to make some room for Bruce. “You’re the one who showed me this place. It would feel wrong to keep you from it.”

Bruce hesitated, but sat down anyway. He knew he could count on Jason’s discretion, and Dick didn’t know about the wedding thing yet, so he had no reason to worry. It was common for Bruce to grade papers the exact same day his students passed the exams, and so he sat down as far away from the couple as he could and slammed the pile of paper on the table, grabbing the first one coming. Jason glanced at him, noticed what he was doing, and squirmed on his chair. Time passed in silence, and Jason grew increasingly restless as the pile got excruciatingly smaller. At some point, Bruce raised his head, looked at him, grabbed the pile, and looked for his. Jason looked close to full blown panic now, and Dick seemed to finally realize what was going on.

“Uh…” Dick warned, reaching for Jason again. “Maybe don’t do this.”

Bruce gave his eldest a glance. “What? I’m going to read his thing at some point anyway.”

“It’s fine,” Jason said, looking surprised at the exchange. “I’m impatient, not scared. I want to know how I did.”

Bruce smiled and opened Jason’s exam, taking his time to read it all. He was making little annotations here and there, under Jason’s heavy look. Jason was trying to figure out what Bruce was writing, and Bruce kept turning the paper around so he couldn’t read. Dick stopped caring for their little dance about ten seconds after it began. Bruce was nearly done when someone appeared next to their table.

“Brucie, I knew I’d find you here!”

Bruce didn’t raise his head, adding Jason’s final grade on the front page of his paper. “What do you want, Harley?”

Harley chewed on the pen she was holding. “Ten millions dollar and a better job.”

“I have ten millions dollar, but I can’t get you another job,” Bruce answered, finally raising his head. “You’re going to get ink in your mouth if you keep chewing that pen.”

Harley pouted, but put it out of her mouth. “I can’t believe you _literally_ have ten millions dollar. Can I have them?”

“If you start saving a part of your salary, eventually you will,” Bruce said. “Why are you here?”

Harley looked at Dick and Jason for a second and winked at them, like she was in on the secret. Dick looked mildly uncomfortable and Jason smiled back at her. They had already met each other once or twice outside of college a while ago, and he kind of liked her. She was weird and damaged and freaky most of the times, but Jason could deal with that. She was fun to be around, and even if it didn’t really look like it, she was good at her job. Considering that’s all anyone asked of her, he thought she was doing pretty great.

“I wish I could say I was here just for your sparkling personality,” Harley finally said, pointing at Bruce, “but I’m here to remind you your meeting with the dean starts in ten minutes.”

Bruce frowned a little. “You’re my secretary, now?”

Harley made a face. “Ew, never. I just like Roy, and I know that’s why you have this appointment, so I don’t want you to miss it.”

“Thanks,” Jason felt compelled to say. He didn’t know whether or not Bruce would have went anyway or if he would have just ignored it, and he didn’t want to know. He’d rather be grateful at Harley for putting him on the spot.

“You’re welcome, honey,” Harley said with a smile. “Bruce, move. I have gossip for you to catch up on, and I’m willing to trade my knowledge for a detailed explanation of your weekend.”

Bruce gathered his papers on the table as he got up, a small smile playing on his lips. “A _detailed_ explanation? The gossip better be good.”

“Have I ever disappointed you?” Harley asked, grinning.

Bruce looked up, and gave her a bigger smile. It was a rare one, and he saved them for Harley. She took good care of his kindness. “Never.”

He pushed Dick’s chair out of the way and walked to her, wondering what kind of gossip she had that he had missed. The two of them knew everything about the university, and they prided themselves in being weirdly invading of everyone’s privacy. _Someone has to know_ , Harley had once said. It was common for the various professors to go ask her or Bruce (if they weren’t too scared of him) for something, because they had every bit of information circulating around the buildings at any time. Harley got all the dirt on the students, as they had to often pass through her for admissions, classes and everything related to administration, and Bruce covered professors, T.A.s, and everything from parents giving money to the university to what the dean had been up to last Monday. Dick had been a helpful informant for a while, but then he had stopped doing it when the gossip had involved him and his girlfriend.

Right before leaving, Bruce picked Jason’s exam from the pile and slid it across the table to him. Jason tried to act like he wasn’t going to throw himself at it and coolly grabbed it. By the time he raised his head to say something, Bruce and Harley were gone. A big, red, circled _A+_ was written on top of the first page, and Jason smiled as Dick congratulated him.

 

 

***

 

The door to the dean’s office closing resonated like thunder in the hallway. Bruce stomped away, not bothering to act polite. He had went in with confidence he could solve the Harper Problem pretty fast, and had failed. He hadn’t given up yet, but this would be harder than planned. There were very little ways around Roy’s situation, and he wasn’t sure he could solve this one with money. If Roy accepted it, he could always give him enough that he wouldn’t be in trouble, but he wasn’t sure he would take it, and he knew this would just be a temporary solution to a much bigger problem. Roy wasn’t going to pass his exams. Even if they gave him another date because of his obvious health issue, he wouldn’t get a good enough grade to pass his class, and he wouldn’t pass the year, and he would _never_ get another scholarship or government aid money for the following months. There was very little wiggle room for Bruce, who couldn’t really explain to anyone that would listen that Roy was a drug addict and the only reason he was in college was because that was the only roof he currently had. He knew it would come to this, but he hadn’t thought wise for his first argument of the _save Roy from expulsion_ meeting to be “we’re making a sick kid homeless”. He had to talk to Roy, and find an angle for this entire thing not to be a complete disaster. They still had time. He was covered for the year, it was just the future that had taken an extremely uncertain turn. He didn’t know where to start, but he was not giving this kid up. It was a shame that the boy was too old. Bruce would have adopted him himself if that meant saving the day and getting Roy out of his tricky situation. Unfortunately, not every problem could be solved by impulse adoptions. He was already grateful he wasn’t one to call his kids _champ_ because it would have been the only way he would refer to Jason otherwise. There was no need for more _‘the Ja in Jason is silent’_ -themed relationships with students.

He walked to his office, still fuming. Diana was in front of his door and he stopped before she saw him, pondering whether or not he wanted to do this now. Dodging Harley’s repetitive attempts at finding out what had happened with Clark this weekend had been hard enough. He didn’t feel like telling Diana right now either. He would have went home directly, but his coat with his car keys inside was in his office. He decided to backtrack, hang at the cafeteria or something until Diana gave up. He slowly moved away, and was nearly at the end of the hallway when he she talked. She hadn’t moved at all, gaze fixated on the office facing Bruce’s door.

“I have a peripheral vision, you know,” she just said. “I’m not here for you,” she added, turning his head to him. She pointed at the other office. Bruce frowned. This office was supposed to be empty, considering it belonged to the professor Clark was here to temporarily replace. “I was taking Clark to his new office.”

“His new office,” Bruce repeated. “Right in front of mine.”

Diana played innocent. “Will that be a problem?”

Bruce ignored the question, and vaguely pointed at not-Clark’s office. “Why is he getting a big office in my hallway, like he’s head of his department or something?”

Diana chuckled. “He’s been waiting three months for someone to give him at least a _desk_. The administration didn’t find him one. I think they tried to seek his forgiveness by giving him a big room instead.” Diana shrugged. “It was empty anyway. It’s not like she’s going to miss it.”

Clark picked this moment to walk out, closing the door behind him. “I like it,” he told Diana, and then noticed Bruce. “Hey, neighbor.”

“No,” Bruce answered, pointing aggressively at him. “In your dreams, Texas.”

“Kansas,” Clark corrected politely. “I’m from Kansas.”

Bruce looked at him. “It’s like you’re proud of something.”

“I am. I love my farm and my state and my city.”

“This is so embarrassing,” Bruce answered. He didn’t waste more time hanging with the two of them and closed his office’s door behind him. He grabbed his coat and dropped the stack of copies at the center of his desk. Someone knocked and opened the door behind him. He didn’t turn around. “Not now, Diana.”

Clark sighed. “I wish I was Diana.”

Bruce gave him a grimace. “So do I.”

“Wish you were Diana?” Clark said with a smile.

“Wish _you_ were Diana,” Bruce answered, pissed. He was even more pissed that Clark had gotten to him so easily. “Look, any other day your pretty face would only be a mild bother, but I’m really not in the mood right now.”

Clark considered that, and nodded, not pushing his luck. “I was just thinking, you know, I had some really good office related pranks ideas and I never got around to do them because I had no reason to be in this particular place.” Bruce squinted at him, putting his coat on. He was silent, and so Clark kept talking. “Apparently, we’re back to normal, right? Nothing happened and our relationship didn’t budge? So I guess this is just me forewarning you that you should be suspicious again. I’m getting my head back in the game.”

Bruce hesitated, taken aback by Clark’s teasing and playfulness. He hated that he hadn’t lied. That the only way Clark’s pretty face bothered him was because it made his heart miss some crucial beats. He pondered on what to answer the professor, if he should just tell him to fuck off, if he should ignore him, if he should try to hurt him again so that he wouldn’t get near. Bruce had to hand it to him: he was endearingly persistent. He finally decided on something to say. “If you’re about to ruin my days again, why are you warning me? Don’t think I’m above bringing my dog here. If I want to, I can make it impossible for you to get 100 meters around my office.”

Clark winked at him. “I believe you. But you see, I don’t think you want to do that at all. I think your evil little brain is already thinking of how you’re going to retaliate. I think you couldn’t stay away from me if you tried.”

Bruce looked at him, biting his inner cheek not to smile. He moved forward to distract himself, putting a hand on Clark’s torso and pushing him outside the room. He closed the door behind the two of them and made a show of locking his door. “You don’t ever quit, do you?”

“Oh, you’re wrong. I don’t have your ego. I have no problem with giving up on lost causes,” Clark said, shoving his hands in his pockets, all casual. He moved to avoid being in Bruce’s way. Diana was looking at the two of them, her eyebrows raised a little. Bruce knew she was holding back a comment and internally thanked her for it. Bruce gave Clark a last glance before walking away. “This,” Clark said, pointing between the two of them, “is not a lost cause.”

“Prove it,” Bruce answered him, his provocative tone matching Clark’s teasing.

“Let me. Let me and I will.”

Bruce thought it over a second, but they both knew Clark had won this. “Game on, Smallville. Round two.”


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm honestly ashamed of myself.. MORE THAN A MONTH FOR A 4000 WORDS SHITTY UPDATE.. i don't want to talk im literally embarrassed by everything related to this chapter i just wanted to say i was alive and writing and i will end this fic soon enough because 1) im pumped to write 2) we're reaching the end soon so like. ALL GOOD THINGS MUST END also i'd like not take 12 months to write it anyway 3) i have three days off in a row and work isn't killing me rn so like. progress
> 
> anyway enjoy. sorry about this SHITSHOW

_TUESDAY_

Bruce opened the door to his office carefully and looked around. He knew he must have looked ridiculous, cracking the door open with his foot and acting all suspicious. But he _was_ suspicious. There was no way to know what Clark had came up with, but Bruce was sure there was _something_. The light in Clark’s office was on, and Bruce guessed the professor had reached university earlier than him. It wasn’t that hard, considering he practically lived on campus and didn’t have sons who came up with new inventive ways of burning some part of the manor down every morning. He hadn’t greeted the man when he’d gotten there either, because he trusted Clark’s temporary office even less than his.

When the way to his desk was clear, he relaxed just a little. Dick had asked him earlier why he had so much fun putting himself in unnecessarily stressful situations, and Bruce hadn’t answered. It was Clark who was fun. Obviously Bruce couldn’t answer that. He made his way around his desk, cautious. He dropped his bag on top of it, didn’t see anything weird, and stopped next to the chair. He was about to throw something on it to make sure it wouldn’t break when Clark opened the door.

“Good morning, Bruce,” Clark said with a smile. “I’m here to see the show.”

Bruce clicked his tongue at him, and decided to press his foot on the chair. He put his weight on it and his desk chair wobbled and fell under him. Clark made a disappointed face, and Bruce shrugged. “You’re gonna have to step up your game, Nebraska.”

“Kansas,” Clark answered automatically.

Bruce shrugged and dragged another (safe) chair to his desk. He sat on it and leaned on his desk to grab his bag. It would have went just fine if the desk hadn’t _collapsed_ under him. It toppled and crashed to the ground in a loud noise, leaving Bruce catching himself to his chair, narrowly avoiding following his desk on the ground. When the noise died down, Bruce head Clark’s laughter.

“You should have seen your _face_ ,” Clark said, drying tears at the corner of his eyes. “You look so scared,” Clark added, wheezing now.

Bruce looked up, not ready to believe he had been played like this. He had checked _everything._ He couldn’t believe Clark had guessed that, and used it against him.

“I’m pretty sure my computer is destroyed,” Bruce said, looking at his belongings on the ground. Luckily, Bruce liked order and everything to be clean, and so there wasn’t much on his desk left to be crushed, but his computer had taken a serious hit.

Clark smiled. “You keep three copies of your entire hard drive at all time.”

“The last one I did—” Bruce started, trying to guilt trip Clark in order to at least win _something_.

“Was yesterday.”

“How do you know?”

Clark smiled smugly. “Alfred told me.”

 _“Alfred_ told you? What the fuck?” Bruce said, outraged at that if not anything else. “He’s against me in this?”

“Who do you think warned me I needed to think four steps ahead to get you?” Clark answered with a wink. “He said he’s not in _my_ team, but that you could use a good wake up call.”

“What does that mean?”

Clark shrugged. “Ask him.” He looked at the time. “I’m going to be late. Clark: 1, Bruce: 0,” he finished, walking backwards to the door, dancing a little, which Bruce found ridiculous and endearing and annoying all at the same time.

“Hold that thought,” Bruce muttered, grabbing his bag from the wreckage. The wreckage being his ego, of course. As for the desk, he just had to put it back up and re-screw it back to a standing position. He looked at the door Clark had closed behind him and shook his head. “I can’t believe he got me,” he said out loud, and there was some part of him that was stubbornly impressed.

 

_WEDNESDAY_

The day of work had been excruciatingly slow and boring. Clark walked back to his office in silence, the sun having set under Gotham’s skyscrapers half an hour ago. Everything was very still and pretty and relaxing, which was how Bruce took him by surprise. Clark opened the door and was propelled backward by the foam from the fire extinguisher Bruce was holding. He hid his face with his bag and waited until Bruce was done trying to kill him before showing his eyes again.

“There’s white on your suit,” Bruce pointed out after being glared at for a full minute.

“Are you for real? This is _dangerous_ ,” Clark said, shaking foam off his clothes. It didn’t go away easily, and he realized he was lucky his flat was close. Unfortunately, this was not the first time Bruce Wayne was the reason he had to change clothes. “I could have gotten some in my lungs or something, and I would have died, and then you would have had to live with that. My death on your conscience.”

Bruce thought about it. “I don’t know, I feel like you’re the kind of person who wants people to wear white at your funeral and remember happy days and move on fast.”

Clark smiled, walking back into his office. He had good reflexes, and hadn’t gotten a lot on his face, but his eyes still stung as he shook off his jacket. “What’s so bad about it?”

Bruce made a face. “Tacky.”

Clark smiled bigger and shrugged, putting his bag down. Bruce rolled back on his chair. “Happiness? That’s tacky?”

“I’m more of a _fashionable existential crisis_ kinda guy,” Bruce answered. He glared at Clark. “Not that I’d ever admit it.”

“Right,” Clark said. “You know I’m not giving up on that date,” he said after a pause.

Bruce made a show of looking around. “Is this how you’re going to woo me back into your arms? A prank war?”

“Worked the first time.”

Bruce snorted. “What do you expect, that I’m suddenly going to think you’re cute for making me rebuild a desk at 8am? Is this how we get to know each other?”

Clark shrugged again. “It could be.”

Bruce expected this answer but still didn’t know what to say. He bit his lower lip, thinking that he kind of wanted this date, knowing he would regret it later. Thinking Clark had given him the perfect opportunity, something that sounded as ridiculous as a prank war but allowed both of them to constantly think of each other innocently. Clark had put him in a setting where Bruce could do what he wanted to do, while also having plenty of excuses to be doing that. He knew it wouldn’t last, but it was smart. Bruce really wanted to get to know Clark better. There was something about him. Or maybe it was just chemistry. Or maybe it was just the way his body had woken up way before him this morning when his dream had wandered off to the feel of Clark’s fingers against his skin.

“Alright. Tell me one stupid fact about you.”

Clark grinned. “Uhm. I love to go to the dentist.”

Bruce couldn’t help but laugh. “You what?”

“I love to go to the dentist,” Clark repeated, shaking his head as if to say _I swear_. “It’s fascinating.”

“Strangers putting their fingers in your mouth.”

Clark clicked his tongue, like they’d have this conversation a million times. “If you relax, it’s not that bad. And then you can ask plenty of questions, and if you’re lucky you have to take an X-Ray and you can see the inside of your skull.”

Bruce stared for two full minutes. “That’s enough facts for today.”

“So that’s how slow getting to know each other is going to be?” Clark asked, but he was still smiling. “A week-long date?”

“Who says it has to stop at the end of the week?”

“I say,” Clark answered. “I’m giving you a deadline. The end of the week marks half this semester, and then we get a week and a half of holidays. I’ll be leaving for Metropolis during that week. You sort your shit out before then, or that’s too bad for the two of us.”

Bruce kept on staring, taken aback by the sudden sharp turn the conversation had taken. “That’s not really nice of you.”

Clark scoffed. “I’m only staying here a year. I’m not sacrificing my work environment pining for someone who’s not showing any sign of wanting to take…” Clark hesitated calling it a relationship, because it sounded weird, so he just made a hand gesture. “ _This_ further. It’s not about being nice. It’s about taking care of myself, which is something you wouldn’t know about.”

“Wow,” Bruce answered, getting up to go back to his office. He wasn’t sure he was ready for such a conversation so late in the day. “This is going well.” Clark didn't answer, because Clark was right, and they both knew it. Clark was also kind, and Bruce felt like he knew that more than Clark did, which was annoying.

They crossed path halfway through the room, Clark still shaking foam off his hair, his eyes getting redder. Bruce gave him a good look, his chiseled jaw and his honest eyes and the way his lips curled into a smile, the dimples it created on his cheeks, the little curl of his hair that fell almost ridiculously perfectly on his forehead. _Clark Kent._ A goddamn miracle of a man. There was a new ache in Bruce’s stomach, and a tingle he felt at the tip of his fingers, after effects of keeping himself from tugging at that curl, from bruising the white skin of his jaw, from reddening his lips and kissing his eyelids.

Surprisingly, it was Clark who spoke first again. “You do that thing,” he said after clearing his throat, “where you suck up the air from between us, and you replace it with _tension_. The last time you did that so evidently, we kissed and you said it was a mistake. Were you telling the truth?”

Bruce thought about it for a split second. “Yes.” Clark gave a nod. “But.” He cleared his throat, not knowing exactly how and what he wanted to say next. He could hear his oldest son’s voice in his head, begging him to choose happiness. Asking him, for the thousandth time, to make an effort. For _once_. “That truth wasn’t set in stone.”

Clark took in a short breath, tried to pretend he hadn’t. He squinted at Bruce. “What is it about you?”

“I’m irresistible,” Bruce answered casually, laughing it off to save himself. “And I have to get home,” he added just to make it clear he didn’t want to go down that road. Not yet. Baby steps.

Clark, being everything Bruce wanted him to be, took a step back and smiled at him. “See you tomorrow.”

Bruce gave him a nod, uncomfortable and not trusting himself to sleep. This was messy. This was complicated. A part of his brain was screaming _this is too much for you to handle_ , and the other side of his brain, full of pride, told him _you can handle anything, you always have._ He gave Clark a last look and walked out, his fingers still hurting at the missed opportunity of touching skin he was craving.

 

_THURSDAY_

“Do you have, like, NERF guns?” Maps asked.

Damian gravely mimicked his father. “No, because here at Wayne Manor, we hate fun. Anything related to amusement and good times is prohibited, and that include all and any form of guns.”

“Damian,” Bruce warned.

Jason tried not to say it but failed. “Even finger guns?”

Damian made a fake shocked face. “ _Especially_ finger guns.”

“ _Jason,_ ” Bruce repeated on the same tone. He had went home for lunch and was already regretting it. Dick was studying at home and had brought Jason with him, and Damian didn’t have class and had invited a friend from school Bruce had never seen before. He had thought it would be a good idea to get home and keep an eye on Damian, who wasn’t famous for being kind enough to people he would make friends that he would _take back home_. This was a rare occurrence. Bruce was very suspicious, but hoped it meant his son was getting better. Damian had always had trouble adjusting to kids his age. Maps sounded as smart as he was, and twice as mischievous, which was a duo that couldn’t bring anything good. Bruce was kind of eager to see what would come out of it. Only Tim was alone on the couch, reading yet another book in silence. Bruce chewed on his salad, looking around at his family (and Jason), wondering if Clark would fit here. He _knew_ it was a bit _too much_ to think of this now, when he was just getting used to the idea of _maybe dating_ , but Bruce didn't know how to half ass anything. He couldn’t keep himself from thinking about it. From sitting at the end of the table with someone else, from Damian growing up with someone who was balanced and would keep him on his feet, from sharing his bed with someone he was eager to come home to. The thought made him surprisingly warm.

“Do you still have finals, Jason?” Bruce asked out of nowhere, trying to keep his brain busy with non-Clark things.

Jason raised his head. He was chewing on his pen, and there was ink on his lip where it was leaking. “One, in a few hours. Then I’m done.”

“Holidays?”

Jason snorted. “No classes mean double shifts at work.”

“Sucks to suck,” Damian said from his side of the living room, where he was making a tower of Lego.

 Jason grabbed is eraser and threw it in the direction of Damian. It hit his tower and it toppled to the ground. Maps laughed as Damian got up, outraged. “You destroyed my tower!”

Jason shrugged. “Sucks to suck.”

“Stop it,” Alfred said, walking in the living room with a cup of coffee. “Both of you,” he added, glaring at Jason, who pretended to focus on his textbook.

Alfred gave Tim the cup of coffee. Damian then tried to impress Maps by firing Lego directly into Tim’s cup, which got Tim pissed enough that he got up and started leaving, spilling drops of coffee in his path. Bruce tried to keep Tim from leaving by telling Damian to behave, which didn’t work, which got them all to argue. Jason was just looking at the chaos with a little smile. He had never knew family like this. He wasn’t really jealous— where he had grown up, it would have been a liability. But he could see the appeal, and he thought maybe if he ever had the means, he wouldn’t mind having that at home, too. It was the first time his brain came up with something as ridiculous and he squirmed on his chair, glaring at Dick. His boyfriend would leave soon, anyway. He would leave for Europe and Jason would be alone again, far from the Waynes’ warmth. He couldn’t start thinking about building a family.

Dick ended up slamming his computer shut. It got everyone’s attention, and he got up. “Oh please, don’t mind me. It was a mistake to think I could ever do anything productive in the living room.” He left dramatically, leaving Jason alone at the table with Bruce. After a moment of hesitation, Jason decided to follow. If Dick escaped to their bedroom, maybe they’d have time for something that wasn’t studying before driving back to college.

Bruce was left with Damian and Maps, Tim having, in classic Drake fashion, left without no one noticing. “If the two of you start shit again, I’ll call Alfred.”

“ _Language_ ,” Alfred yelled from the kitchen.

Bruce pointed at the door, as if to say ‘ _see?’_. His phone rang a second after that and he sighed as he looked at the screen. Clark’s name was written on bold letters and he frowned. He pressed the green button. “Bruce Wayne speaking.”

 _“I know. I called,”_ Clark answered. _“It’s Clark.”_

“I know. I have caller ID,” Bruce said on the same tone.

There was a second of silence. _“Okay. Yeah. Hi!”_ Bruce stayed silent, and Clark decided to move on. _“Is Tim around? I need a favor._ ”

“What kind of favor?”

Clark sighed. _“My nephew’s coming to town next week, and I worked my schedule around his visit save for the day he gets to Gotham, and I thought Tim could keep him busy while I’m at work._ ”

“Why Tim?” Bruce asked, frowning.

 _“Kon’s the same age. I think they could get along. I mean, I don’t know Tim well, but he seems like the outsider in the family. So’s Kon.”_ There was another silence. _“Look, I know it’s kinda weird and rushed, but you’d be saving me. I don’t know anyone else. I can’t cancel his plane, and I’m not leaving Kon alone an entire day in a city he’s never been to before. He’s a disaster._ ”

“You want a disaster to hang with my son?”

Clark sighed. _“No, I want you to do me a favor. I’ll owe you. Just ask Tim. He can say no if he wants. I’d just waste an opportunity if I didn’t at least ask._ ”

Bruce thought maybe Tim needed a friend. It was a reach, considering they’d never met, and Tim was, in a different way, as awkward with people as Damian and he was. Where Damian came off aggressive and Bruce cold, Tim came off pretentious or know-it-all. He didn’t do it on purpose, he just never quite knew how to act like people expected him to, and it made things weird. Tim had understand that a while ago, and while he had never given up on making friends, he was always wary of new people. Years of being the third person walking behind a duo when the sidewalk was too small had left scars who weren’t going to fade anytime soon. Bruce didn’t know if _Kon_ , whoever he was, would be as much of a miracle for Tim as Clark was one for Bruce.

“I can ask him,” Bruce said carefully, deciding it wasn’t his choice to make.

 _“That’d be great,”_ Clark answered. _“I’m sure they’ll get along,_ ” he added, positive as always. _“Kon is a bit of a mess, but he’s very likable. I can give Tim Kon’s number if they want to talk beforehand.”_

Bruce rubbed his neck. “Let me talk it out with Tim first. I’ll see how he feels about it, and I’ll get back to you.”

He hung up soon after that, taking big steps to his son’s bedroom. He knocked and opened the door, finding Tim half asleep on his bed, a book resting on his forehead. “Are you sleeping?”

“I wish,” Tim answered from under the pages. “What’s up?”

Bruce realized he didn’t know where to start, and cleared his throat. He decided to get to the point, for lack of any other idea. “How do you feel about showing Gotham around to Clark’s nephew?”

Tim pushed the book away from his face and looked at his father. “I’m sorry?”

“Clark invited his nephew over to Gotham the week after the holidays but he’s busy one day, and he asked me if you’d mind keeping the guy company.”

Tim stared some more. “Me?”

“You.”

“Why me?”

“Because you’re the same age,” Bruce answered, knowing how weak an answer this was.

Tim laughed. “You think because we're the same age, we’re going to get along?”

Bruce took in a breath, thinking of Damian tentatively inviting a friend over, thinking of Jason getting in a relationship with Dick regardless of the fact he _knew_ his boyfriend would leave in a year. He thought of how they weren't scared of jumping into the unknown without really having any proof this would end up well. He thought that for all of his calculation, nothing had ever ended well for him. He thought of how similar Tim and he were, despite how strongly they both denied it. Everything around them felt like it was changing. He thought of Clark and his gentle stubbornness, and he thought that Tim should get on the program. “I think you’ve never had a friend your age, and I think you’ve never backed away from a challenge, and I think you need the fresh air and the company.”

“Should I take this badly?” Tim asked, but he was blushing a little, embarrassed.

Bruce chuckled. “No. I…”  He got serious again, ruffling his hair. “I’ve been through what you’re going through and it’s not nice. I think I would have liked, at the time, for someone from another city to come get me out of my misery for a day. I’m not saying become his best friend, I’m saying take him to a museum or McDonalds, whatever rocks his boat, and…” Bruce made a vague hand gesture. “Something about new horizons.”

Tim smiled. “I’ve heard better prep talks from Damian.”

Bruce rubbed his eyelids. “Tim. Please.”

“I’ll do it,” Tim answered with a shrug, meant to be casual. “Only if you stop being a shit with Clark.”

“I’m sorry?”

“We don’t talk, you and I,” Tim said, all kind eyes and soft edges. “But you’re getting warm. You’re trying, and I know it’s thanks to Clark.”

“Don’t say these things,” Bruce said, uncomfortable.

Tim got his book back. “New horizons and stuff. You should give yourself this bad prep talk. I think there are enough mirrors in the house.”

Bruce pointed at his second son in silence, and backtracked away from his room. “Check the attitude.”

 _Mm-mmh_ was the only answer he got, and he left feeling weirdly pleased by the talk. It was a tragedy that he had Clark to thank for _yet another thing_ , but he realized Clark probably wouldn’t mind. When he walked past Dick’s room on his way to get something in his, he heard giggling and kissing and smiled, happy to know his son was happy. This was all Dick deserved. A nice boy and a happy life. He walked back to the living room, where Damian and Maps had taken to watch TV, sitting next to each other. Bruce had never seen Damian so peaceful. There was a small smile on his lips. It contrasted so much with his baby’s eternal frown and resting bitch face he almost shook him to make sure it was real. He caught Alfred’s eyes, who was looking at the scene with nothing but love, and wondered what was happening in this house. It scared him for a second. If everyone around him was sorting their shit, and if everyone was slowly working their ways to a better place, what the _fuck_ was he doing all alone in his misery?

 

_FRIDAY_

This was, technically, the last day of their very short week of frankly childish pranking with the twist of them “getting to know each other” through it. When Bruce had gotten here in the morning, he’d found his desk and everything in the room wrapped tightly in cellophane. Owing Clark a _random fact_ , Bruce told him the only way he liked chocolate was when it was an ice cream flavor. Clark told Bruce that when he’d been a kid he’d accidentally ate pot brownies and had been high for an entire afternoon before vomiting everywhere, and Bruce had subsequently taught him he had once given Ollie culinary herbs and said it'd been weed, which had gotten his billionaire friend to pretend he was high for three hours before Bruce had told him it was ' _fucking coriander'_. They had laughed until they cried about it, Clark promising he would ask Ollie about it as soon as he saw him. It had gotten them down a conversational path of funny teen stories that Bruce felt had lasted hours.

And somehow here they were, at 10am on a Friday, hands on each other’s belts, tongues sliding against each other’s, eyes closed, grinding against the other like fifteen years old. Clark was sitting on Bruce’s desk, his legs around Bruce’s hips. The door was locked, and there were very few professors working at this hour, and they were alone, and Bruce felt a spark in his chest that informed him he was _happy_. He relished in Clark’s grunts, who had given up on staying silent. He wanted Clark. He wanted to fuck him on that desk, rough and good, just because he could. But he also wanted to sit back in his chair and let Clark take what he wanted, and he knew he could have both if he just allowed himself this. He pulled away from Clark to look at him in the eyes and tugged at his signature curl.

“Do you still want to take me on a date?” he whispered, his heart about to beat out of his chest. He felt foolish. 

Clark moved his head to kiss his neck. Bruce raised his eyes to the ceiling, the warmth of Clark’s mouth going directly between his legs. “Yes,” Clark whispered against his skin. Bruce breathed out, his fingers in Clark’s hair, trying not to moan too loudly. Clark worked Bruce’s neck until it bruised, and pulled back up, looking proudly at the big hickey he had left here. “Yes,” he said again, looking at Bruce. “Do you still want to go?”

“Yes,” Bruce answered, and somehow this was easy. This was easy and clear as day and the only truth he had ever known. A lifetime of _wanting_ , of always looking, for something else, for someone else, and here he was, ridiculously involved in something he didn’t even understand how he had gotten tangled in. Maybe that was it. Maybe it had just taken not understanding someone as simple as Clark. “Yes,” Bruce repeated. “Yes.”

Clark smiled. “Don’t look so grave,” he said, and kissed Bruce, sucking his top lip. He put their foreheads against each other.

 _Yes_ , Bruce wanted to say again. _And you’re leaving soon_. But this was alright. If Bruce allowed himself this, it would be knowing it was going to be taken away from him. This he could get ready for. He was used to things he loved slipping away from his grasp. As long as he could hold on for a little while, it would be okay.

He pulled on Clark’s belt and slid a hand behind the professor’s neck. This would be okay. It was an unusual certainty to have, but Bruce remembered days when he woke up feeling like that all the time. He thought he could get used to it again. “Yes,” he just repeated between Clark’s lips, and pushed him down his desk, keeping him right where he needed him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> s/o to hummy bc i introduced timkon AND desk sex in the same chapter which is literally all they are as a person. ur welcome


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *clears throat* i am Ashamed,
> 
> i would advise scrolling through last chapter to remind yourselves of what happened before because honestly if /i/ didn't i can't blame you for forgetting too zijfepokfeozpk i'm so sorry about this.. at least i updated UH!!! RIGHT!!! 
> 
> anyway this is a smol chap just to give sign of life! i hope yall don't hate me and everything i have no excuse really i've just been busy. anyway enough about me. it's time to talk about cassandra cain

“No comment,” Bruce told Dick right before he left the car. They were at the airport, and Clark was already pulling his suitcase out of the trunk. Bruce had taken this opportunity to try and wipe off Dick’s amused smirk.

“I’m just happy for you,” Dick answered, his smirk growing bigger. “Taking your boyfriend to the airport and everything.”

“Stop that,” Bruce insisted. “And we’re not labeling our relationship.”

Dick nodded thoughtfully. “He’s not your boyfriend, but you two went on a date, he stayed the night, and now you’re driving him to the airport for a goodbye kiss.”

Tim snorted in the backseat and Bruce turned around to glare at him. “Don’t start.”

“Is Clark Kent going to be my new dad?” Damian asked mockingly. He had Dick’s smirk.

Bruce regretted taking the entire family to the airport. They were only here because Cass’s plane was arriving at the same time Clark had to take his, but he made a mental note of getting her alone next time.

“You are all so annoying,” Bruce sighed before leaving the car. Clark was waiting on the curb, struggling with his suitcase.

“One of the wheels is broken,” Clark explained, dragging it on the sidewalk.

“Do you want me to buy you another one?” Bruce asked.

Clark started laughing, and then realized the man was serious. “Bruce, stop offering to buy me stuff. I have money.”

“You don’t have a lot of money,” Bruce answered.

“You’re not buying me anything until I get back,” Clark said, pointing at him. He was leaving for Metropolis for the holidays. He missed Lois and his colleagues, and was kind of sad he was only going back for a week. He was, though, happy that he would have Bruce to come back to. “When’s your daughter’s plane?” Clark said, noticing the Wayne kids pushing each other on the way to the airport’s door.

Bruce looked at his watch. “It already got here. She should be going through customs right now.” He raised his eyes. “Maybe you’ll meet her.” They started walking.

“What’s her name?” Clark asked, realizing he didn’t even know anything about her. She was the most discreet Wayne kid, and he had never thought to ask. The boys Bruce had at home were already a lot to take in.

“Cassandra,” Bruce answered. “We call her Cass. She studies at Metropolis U.”

“Don’t know any Cass Wayne at Metropolis U,” Clark said, thoughtful. “What name does she go by?”

“She doesn’t want to carry my name on her shoulders,” Bruce said, nodding like he understood. “It’s Cain. Cassandra Cain.”

Clark stopped in his tracks, turning to Bruce. “Cass Cain? _The_ Cass Cain?”

“What do you mean, _the_ Cass Cain?” Bruce asked, looking around to find his kids. They were jumping at the arrival gates, probably searching for Cassandra in the crowd. They rarely agreed on anything, but whenever their sister was involved, suddenly it felt like they were all one united brotherhood. He thought maybe Cass should be here more often.

Clark chuckled, his eyes wide like he couldn’t believe it. “She’s one of my favorite students!”

Bruce turned his head, focusing back on Clark. “She what?”

Clark nodded enthusiastically. “She took a class with me on her first year. She had a lot of issues, as you probably know,” Clark made a pause to gauge Bruce’s reaction. Bruce nodded. “But she as a will of iron and is so _naturally_ talented at anything she chooses to do that she’s just excelling in anything she starts.”

Bruce couldn’t help but smile, his heart beating just a little faster. Pride. “She never really talks about school.”

Clark put his hand on Bruce’s shoulder. “Make her. She’s _out of this world_ talented. She’s studying investigative journalism recently. She’s gonna change the world.”

Bruce thought back of the first time he had seen Cassandra, sitting on a jail bench next to him, bloody hands and bloodier shirt. He wasn’t looking much better, with the cut on his forehead and his growing black eye. They had both seemed very weirded out by the other’s presence.

It was easier to tell people she was his daughter, but he didn’t think she ever really saw him as a father figure. It was more of something like a light in the dark, a way out of the thin layer of ice she’d been standing on for too long, an outreached hand she had long stopped waiting for. He had pulled her out of the streets, of an abusive home and a nonexistent future, and he had given her a shot. That was all Bruce could take credit for. The rest, she had done all by herself. She had always been good at hitting the ground running. She’d taken his hand, let herself be helped, and had never looked back. The rest of them were just always trying to catch up. Standing next to Cassandra Cain had taught Bruce more than he would ever be able to say. He had spent a long time hoping he would one day have her strength, her resolve and her heart. She had made him believe one day he would.

Clark was looking at him in silence and Bruce shook the thoughts away, focusing back on Clark’s questioning eyes. It suddenly hit him that Cassandra _knew_ Clark, and if she saw how they looked at each other, she would give one her sly smiles, the ones that told a thousand words and hid a thousand more. Then she would make fun of him. “Let’s move,” Bruce said when he heard Dick yell Cass’s name. “We’re getting you to the departure gate and you’ll reunite with Cassandra later.”

“But-” Clark only had time to say before he was forcefully pushed away from the crowd.

“No,” Bruce just answered.

They hurried to where Clark had to be, walking past lost tourists and grumpy Gothamites reuniting with the city. Bruce allowed himself to brush fingers with the man next to him as they walked, a silent reassurance that this was real. That this was something. That it could be more. He was happy Clark was leaving for a week. He needed time away from _the situation_ so he could assess it properly. This one was one of those rare things he didn’t feel like ruining anymore.

They stopped where travelers had to make the rest of the way alone, and Clark winked at Bruce, intertwining their fingers together. “You owe me a second date when I get back,” he whispered, letting people rush past them. “Don’t forget.”

Bruce scoffed. “I asked for it, didn’t I?”

“You did,” Clark said, with a little breathless laugh, like he couldn’t quite believe it. “You _did_. Wow.”

Bruce felt his cheeks redden and clicked his tongue, embarrassed. “Alright, get over it.”

“I don’t feel like it,” Clark answered, a smile still playing around his lips. “And I’m feelin’ a lot.” Bruce took in a sharp breath, and cleared his throat. Clark stretched his lips in a smile that screamed kindness. He pulled Bruce to him as tenderly as he could. “Not there yet?”

Bruce shook his head slightly. _I’m more than there. I’m past_ there _. That’s the thing._ He couldn’t say the words out loud. He was good with words. Excellent, even. As long as they weren’t sincere. Those got stuck in his throat and were never loud enough anyone could hear. He kissed Clark instead, a soft, short kiss, letting Clark understand what he wanted to. Bruce wasn’t one to explain his silences. Not even to Clark Kent. They kissed again, a bit longer this time. It was nice. It felt familiar. Bruce didn’t know if it was his heart fucking with him again or if Clark really was just _that_ good.

“Don’t miss your plane because of me,” Bruce whispered against Clark’s lips.

“That would be terrible,” Clark muttered back, kissing him harder, moving his hips against Bruce’s hands. “What would we do? Go on a date to celebrate?”

Bruce smiled and pushed him away gently. “Go.”

“Okay,” Clark said, pulling on his man’s hand as he walked away, their fingers crooked together. “Call me?”

“Mmh,” Bruce answered. “If you’re a good boy.”

Clark raised his eyebrows and winked. “I’m always a good boy.”

“So I’ve heard.”

They looked at each other one last time before Clark had to let go of Bruce’s hand and turn around. He didn’t look back as he walked past security. Bruce didn’t leave until he was absolutely certain he wouldn’t be able to catch a glimpse of him again. Then, finally, he walked back to his car.

He didn’t have to walk as far as that before hearing his bunch of delinquents being noisy in one of the airport’s coffee shops. He looked at the scene from afar. Damian was pulling on Cass’s oversized shirt, trying to get her to look at the bats they had adopted, while Dick was pestering her about studies. Tim was standing behind them, looking at the trio with a little smile on his face. From the outside, it didn’t even look like Tim was _with_ them. The thought upset him and he walked to his kids, putting an arm against Tim when he reached the boy, forcing him to get closer to his weird family. He put his other arm against Cassandra and kissed her temple. She turned around and gave him a big smile. He opened his mouth to say something, but she cut him before he could get as much as a syllable out.

“Clark Kent? Of all people?”

There was a long silence. Bruce turned to Dick, who gave him a long look. “Oh look, the queue’s moving,” he finally said, avoiding confrontation by grabbing Damian so they would move forward.

Bruce knew it wouldn’t be _that_ bad. Cass wasn’t much of a talker, much less a tease. Especially about these things. She gave him another funny look followed by a sharp nod. “Good taste. Good choice. Wish you the best.” This was the end of it.

Bruce had missed Cassandra.

 

***

 

The ride home was eventful, as Bruce had planned. They all fought for shotgun, which Damian ended up having because he was starting to _seriously_ fight. He put on rap music and ordered to have the car’s roof pulled down, and Bruce allowed himself to go over the speed limit on the empty roads between Gotham and the manor. They all whooped and cheered as Alfred walked out when he heard the car pull up to the front gate, gravel flying everywhere thanks to the sudden braking. Bruce was smiling as they all followed Alfred back inside, Damian racing to Titus, Dick following with Cassandra’s luggage, Tim not far behind, his longer hair poking in every direction.

They sat at the dining table, as loud as usual until food was brought in and everyone’s mouth was too full to be as chatty. They still managed to talk over each other for two solid hours, the boys mostly trying to impress Cassandra, who ate in almost complete silence, smiling and laughing here and there, congratulating Damian on his excellent grades, Tim on his decision to start doing what he wanted instead of what was expected of him, asking four of five questions on the mysterious Jason who kept being brought up by the four of them, to Cass’s amazement.

The more they talked about him so casually, the more curious she was. It was rare enough that Dick would date someone and let everyone know about it, it was rarer still that _Tim_ would feel so close to one of Dick’s friends. It was even more exceptional that Bruce himself would have good things to add, too. He was usually so suspicious of anyone who got close to his sons, especially Dick. But Jason seemed to be the exception. Even Damian admitted to be ‘rather impressed’ by the young man with the white streak in his hair. Cassandra decided she would like him. She knew the kind of person one had to be to befriend every Wayne and Alfred in one go, and bring the family together as if it had always been that way. It was people like her, born with their backs against the wall, who were stronger than anything anyone would throw at them. The unbreakable kids, those who had refused to sit and wait, those who knew how to pretend they could bend without breaking. Those were the people the Wayne boys put their trusts in. They knew what it felt like. They all had busted brains and smashed hearts, and only an expert at broken things would know how to piece them together harmoniously.

Eventually, Damian started yawning enough times that Bruce convinced him to go to bed. He argued for a solid half hour before Cassandra agreed to take him to his room, which hadn’t happened in such a long time the little boy couldn’t refuse. She took his hand as they walked out the big living room, Damian fidgeting with his slippers.

“Made any friend at school?” Cassandra asked as they walked up the stairs. Damian reacted to Cass the way he reacted to his father. Like a little kid, who had nothing to prove and didn’t really want to.

He shrugged. “A girl.”

Cassandra opened the door to his room, eyes widening. “A _girl?_ ”

Damian let go of her hand, annoyed, cheeks all red. “It’s not a big deal.”

“What’s her name?”

Damian sat down on his bed. He sighed. “We call her Maps. She loves drawing and adventures.”

“Sounds like a lady,” Cass said. “She must love the Manor.”

“She’s only been there once,” Damian said, throwing himself back on his bed dramatically. He put his hand on his forehead. “Dad won’t let me explore the caves under the Manor alone with her, it’s so embarrassing. That’s why I stopped inviting her.”

Cassandra snorted. “The caves are dangerous.”

“I’m tough,” Damian answered, sitting back up. “She’s tough, too. She wants to go, but…”

“No way to sneak past Bruce, uh?”

Damian made a wide hand gesture. “You know it. And I can’t invite her again to watch TV. It’s _lame_.” He yawned. “I’m not a kid anymore. I’m a grown up.”

Cassandra looked at him. “Damian, you’re four years old.”

“I AM NINE,” Damian answered, suddenly standing up on his bed.

“Are you _sure_? Last time I saw you, you were like, five. Six, maximum.” Damian started arguing again and stopped when his sister started laughing. He crossed his arms against his chest and puffed it, looking away. “Come _on_ ,” Cass ended up saying after poking him in the cheek several times. “Stop pouting. It’s time for bed.”

He didn’t argue any longer, because it was Cass, and slipped under the covers, rubbing his eyes.

“What about you?” he asked.

Cass frowned. “What about me?”

“Did you make friends in college?”

Cass smiled. She was glad he had thought to ask. “I did. I don’t have many, but I have who I need around.”

There was a silence. “Do you have a boyfriend?”

“No,” Cassandra answered, frowning, her lips set in a tight line. She hesitated, then decided to go for it. “I have a girlfriend, though.”

Damian rolled his eyes and sighed theatrically. “Everyone in this family is gay.” Cassandra burst out laughing, something that was rare enough it made Damian turn. “What’s so funny?”

Cassandra shook her head. “Nothing. It’s true. We’re all gay. You’re next.”

Damian seemed to consider the idea. “No. I think I like Maps.”

“That’s cool, too.” She frowned. “Wait, Tim’s gay?”

Damian looked at her pointedly. “He said he wasn’t but I heard Dick tell Dad that he was. I asked Tim because no one wanted to do it and he said he wasn’t gay, he had just been confused because he had never been ‘ _that_ friend’ with a guy before like he is with Jason now. And that it was none of our business, and that I could go tell Dick to suck one and grow up instead of sending his little brother to ask this stuff. Go figure.”

“Wow.” She paused. “Sounds gay to me, though.”

“I know,” Damian said, exhausted. “It sounded gay to Dad, too, but he said we weren’t allowed to joke about it, so we’re not joking about it.”

“What about that girl, Steph?”

“Did they ever even _kiss_?”

Cassandra punched Damian in the shoulder lightly. “That’s not nice. And you’re too young to have this conversation, anyway.”

Damian shrugged. There was a silence, and he pointed to the Ipad mini on his bedside table and looked for the website that would show him his bats, now wide awake at this hour. He put it back on his bedside table silently, turning in bed so he could see the animals.

Cassandra pointed. “What’s that about?”

Damian pulled his blanket to his face. “I like knowing they’re awake when I’m asleep.” He hesitated, and kept his eyes on the screen. “They protect me from nightmares.”

“Still get these a lot?” Cassandra asked, frowning.

She remembered when Damian had gotten here. He used to wake up every night in tears, not knowing why he was having bad dreams. He was way too smart for his age, and his little heart couldn’t keep up with his head. Emotions came with complications each and every time for Damian. _All intelligent children have bad dreams_ , Bruce had told him once. Cass had never really understood why it had made the kid feel better, but it was one of those times where everyone was painfully reminded they shared more than a last name. It was the same blood cursing through their veins. Sometimes it made a difference.

Damian, of course, did not remember getting here. He had never understood why he had such nightmares, or why everything was so hard for him. It was an awful conundrum, to be smarter than average and yet being unable to relate to other kids, to learn at their speed, to grow up like they did. The rest of the family had understood a while ago that drug babies always grew up to a tough childhood, and Bruce still blamed himself for it. But Damian was getting better, Cass could see it. He was less angry, less agitated, less mean. Less tired, too. If the bats could help, she was happy they were here.

Cassandra listened absently to the little boy slowly falling asleep as he told her his bats’ names. She had felt more than saw Bruce’s presence in the room, but hadn’t turned from the kid’s bed. She couldn’t pinpoint the moment he’d gotten here exactly, but it was Bruce, and she knew he had heard enough that when she would turn, he would be keeping a stoic face that would fool most save from those who knew where to look in his eyes for worry. She got up and joined him in the hallway, closing the door behind her slowly.

They looked at each other for a while. Bruce finally nodded like they’d been talking for hours, and smiled. “Still with Babs, uh?” Cassandra smirked. “Good taste. Good choice. Wish you the best.”

Cassandra winked and made a little bow. She pointed to her room. “I’m going to crash.”

Bruce nodded and got out of her way. “Oh, wait,” he said before she was out of reach. “Shot in the dark, but have you ever met Kon? Clark’s nephew?”

Cassandra whistled. “The ‘gender is fake’ punk with the ‘fuck the system and save the bees’ pin? Yeah. He’s a cool dude. A little wild and all over the place, particularly loud and with the worst sense of humor I’ve seen in a while, but yeah. I’ve seen him.” She paused. “He’s hard to miss. He’s very… leathery. Last time I saw him, he had a Mohawk, too.”   

There was a long silence. Bruce put his fingers against his temple. “I need to speak with Clark.”

“What’s up with Kon?”

“He’s hanging out with Tim next week.” Bruce sighed. “Clark didn’t tell me his nephew was… _this_.”

Cass blinked. “Why is he hanging out with Tim? Do they know each other?”

Bruce shook his head. “No. Long story.” He sighed again. “Leather and a Mohawk, uh?”

Cassandra smiled. “That’s totally Tim’s style.”

Bruce couldn’t help but chuckle. “Yeah. Well, it might do some good.” Cassandra frowned and Bruce ruffled his hair, deep in thoughts. “I think the kid might need a day with a ‘gender is fake’ pin under his nose.” Cassandra nodded like she knew what he meant and waved him good night, slipping away in the shadows of the hallway to her old room. Bruce stood there, alone in the empty corridor. He could hear Dick and Tim chatting in the stairs under him, and he could see Alfred cleaning the rest of the table downstairs. He felt weird.

 _Happy_.

There was that feeling again. He thought of Clark’s lips and took out his phone. He texted the man, finding it easier to be affectionate through text. It wasn’t much, really, but it was unusual of him to send those kind of messages. _Have a good night in your awful city. Hope you realize how superior Gotham is and come back sooner than expected._ He walked back to his room and had time to change and put himself into bed before his phone vibrated again. _Miss me already?_ Clark had answered. Bruce locked his phone and rolled under the covers.

_Maybe I do, Kent. Maybe I do._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ET VOILA  
> see you soon (i swear)


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> guess who came up with another depressing as hell chapter. it's me  
> BY THE WAY 700 KUDOS YOU GUYS!!!!! FAM!!!! THANK YOU SO MUCH WTF!!!!!!!! YALL ARE SO GREAT!!! I LOVE ALL 700 OF YOU!!!!

“Damian, I fucking see you,” Bruce yelled from the corridor. He’d been on his way to open the front door before he noticed two small figures sneaking out under the stairs, where the entrance to the underground caves were. “There is no way you’re taking Maps down here. Go back up before I come get you.”

The two kids scurried back upstairs, Damian giving his father a death glare. Maps went back up, and he stopped in the middle of the stairs. “You’re making me look uncool. This is killing me.”

Bruce snorted. “Okay, Indiana Jones. Dinner in 15 minutes.”

“I’m not coming,” Damian answered, crossing his arms against his chest. “Have fun without me.”

Bruce nodded. “We will. Bye.” He watched his son leave and had to control the sudden burst of anger that came out of nowhere. His mouth twitched, his emotions slowly slipping away a painful reminder he wasn’t taking any of his meds. He’d been feeling irritated for no reason ever since Clark left, and he wished it could have been just missing him. But his brain had been playing this fun trick for years now. He composed himself and turned back around to open the door. Selina was standing there, looking around at the flowers on the porch. “Sorry, Selina. Had to ground twelve of my thirty three kids on my way to open the door.”

Selina smiled and stepped in, kissing Bruce on the cheek as she went. “Thirty three? Did you give up on a few of them?” Bruce shook his head and took her coat. “It’s been a while since I last rode up here. Not a single thing has changed.”

“What is there to change? The manor’s good the way it is.”

“If you like feeling like every step you take you’re losing a century, I guess.”

 Bruce made a face and ushered her to the living room. “No making fun of the manor after 7pm,” he told her the way he would tell one of his kids. Selina wasn’t nowhere near that to him, but there was a time she had been here often enough that he’d have to tell her the same things he told his children when they were trying to get to him. She’d always been very close to Dick, which didn’t help. In the same room as him, the two of them were lethal.

Selina walked in the living room to see Dick, Cass and Jason deep in a studies-related conversation. She sighed. “Won’t you guys let yourselves have fun? I don’t want to hear the word _college_ tonight.”

Dick turned around and jogged to her, his smile up to his ears. “Selina!” He pulled her into a hug. “How are you?”

“Good as always,” she answered, hugging back and poking her head over his shoulder. She waved at Cass, and Cass waved back. Dick let her go so she could high five Jason. “Good to see you here.”

Jason made a wide hand gesture. “Who would have thought?”

Selina couldn’t help but laugh. This wasn’t the place she usually met Jason. Those places were way less fancy, way smaller and infinitely more familiar. The two of them didn’t belong in here. It felt strange that they would both end up gravitating around the Wayne Planet anyway. “More _chic_ than Old Gotham’s food kitchen.”

Cass smirked. “Sometimes that food kitchen’s warmer than the Manor.”

Jason and Selina nodded with agreement, and were kept from answering by Alfred’s arrival. “But the food isn’t nowhere as good,” he said, putting down glasses on the table.

The three of them all answered variations of _we would never- of course Alfred- it’s not even worth the comparison_ as the butler smiled warmly.

Selina looked around. “Where’s Tim? I need to congratulate him on dropping out of college.”

Bruce grabbed a glass and opened a bottle of wine. “Can you all stop congratulating Tim on dropping out of college? That’s no achievement.”

“Tssk,” Selina answered. “As if you hadn’t dropped out of college, like, six times.”

“I _know_ ,” Bruce said. “That’s what I’m saying.”

“He’s already rich,” Jason chirped in. “It’s not like he needs to study. Ever.”

Bruce put the bottle down and sighed. “Putting all of you in the same room was a mistake.” No one said a thing, and Bruce suddenly realized how silent the Manor was. He frowned, asked everyone to be even more silent and _waited_. There was a single, barely audible _creek_ and he clicked his tongue. “Damian Wayne,” he shouted, moving to go back to the hallway. “If by the time I get there, I see you on your way underground I will literally chain you to my chair!” The _creeks_ were more audible now, and Bruce took off running, knowing there was no threat that would stop Damian. He would have to do it himself.

The rest of them watched Bruce leave the living room, smiling. Selina stole Bruce’s glass and poured herself some wine, sighing dramatically as she sat down. “I haven’t kept up with the Waynes for a while. What’s up?”

Dick shrugged. “It’s actually been pretty tame this week. No one has died or tried to.”

Selina gave him an impressed face. She turned to Jason. “How’s my boy Roy?”

“Still in bed most of the times. We’re waiting for the end of the holidays to see what we can do about his college situation.” Jason squirmed on his chair, uncomfortable. He knew the whole story. He knew Roy had a kid to take care of and a drug addiction problem to solve before anything _could_ get better for him. He felt like it was too heavy a discussion for a casual dinner with everyone. “It’s not easy.”

“Nothing ever is,” Selina answered with fatality.

Cass snorted. “Bruce couldn’t have said better.”

Dick started laughing and Selina threw a breadcrumb at her face. “Give him a break. He’s doing better too.”

There was a little silence that ended when Dick tried to change the subject and failed, and Selina sat back up on her chair. “I smell trouble. What did he do?”

Dick waved it off. He had become an expert at catching Bruce’s slow mood swings, and was trying to be hopeful about the evening’s forecast. “Stick around to find out,” he said with a grimace.

“What’s going on?”

Dick was about to answer that he had called the university he was aiming for in Zurich and that they looked pretty positive about his application. He hadn’t talked to Bruce about it again since that time he had almost gotten hit for it, and wasn’t eager for the topic to come up again. He heard Bruce walk back in the dining room with Damian under one arm and Maps in the other and decided to shut up. Selina squinted at him and he gave her look that meant _don’t_.

Bruce sat Maps down on one chair and put Damian on the other side of the table. “Stay put,” he told his son. He looked at Maps. “You too. Don’t think I won’t ground you just because you’re not my kid. I ground everyone. I don’t care.”

Maps nodded thoughtfully. “You do seem like the type of person who would take responsibility for things even though no one asked you to.”

There was a round of _oooooooh_ around the table as Bruce just stared at the little girl, who stared back, unbothered. She had a little smile on her face that screamed _I’m innocent,_ but Bruce knew better. “Just stay put,” he mumbled, glaring at Damian. Damian looked pleased with his friend.

“I like her,” Alfred said.

“Didn’t ask,” Bruce answered.

“I like her too,” Selina insisted. “She can stay.”

Bruce turned to her. “ _Didn’t ask_.” He sat down at the end of the table. “Where’s my glass?” Selina took a sip. He sighed. Alfred gave him another one. “Thanks for being the only one who _cares_ ,” he told his butler, which got him eye rolling from everyone.

Alfred put his hand on Bruce’s shoulder. “I bet if you paid everyone like you pay me they would care just as much as I do, Master Bruce.”

“I hate you all,” Bruce just answered, shaking off Alfred’s hand. He grabbed the wine and poured some in his glass until it was full.

Alfred didn’t really care and started giving everyone food, starting with the ladies and ending with Bruce. He stopped before he went back to the kitchen, frowning. “Where has Master Tim gone?”

This cut everyone’s conversation and they looked around.

“Glad someone noticed,” Tim said, standing in the doorway to the dining room, fully dressed but looking like he’d just rolled out of bed. “Wouldn’t want to bother.”

There was an awkward silence and Selina got up, smiling. “Tim! I asked for you a minute ago.”

Tim glared. “Cool. Took you one whole minute to forget about me all over again.”

Selina sat back down. Bruce clicked his tongue. “That’s no way to speak to Selina, Tim.”

“Would you rather I don’t speak at all? Didn’t seem to be a problem,” Tim said viciously.

Dick turned around, frowning. “What’s up with you?”

“Nothing,” Tim answered, turning around. “I’m going back to bed.”

“You were sleeping?” Dick said, slowly getting up. “At that hour?”

“I sleep whenever I can sleep. Don’t bother.” He disappeared as quickly as he had arrived.

Bruce shrugged and got back to eating. Dick looked at him and shook his head. “Really, Bruce?”

Bruce raised his head. “He’s right to sleep whenever he can. Insomnia isn’t nice. He has to get some rest at _some_ point.”

Dick put down his fork and got out of his chair for good. “I can’t fucking believe you,” he said before going after Tim.

There was another one of those awkward silences, and Bruce looked up at Alfred for guidance. Alfred stared back coldly. “What?” Bruce said. “Nothing I can say will make him feel better.”

“Not that you’ve tried,” Selina said under her breath.

“If you have something to say, Selina, at least look at me when you do.”

Selina raised her head, looking at Bruce with a little frown. “I’m sorry?”

Jason and Cass gave each other a glance. It’s not like either of them was used to any Wayne dinner going well, but it still took the two of them aback.

Cass hadn’t been at the Manor long enough to really get used to the family atmosphere, and she barely even talked to Tim in the first place. It wasn’t that she didn’t like him, it’s just that they had gotten here at around the same time, and she hadn’t been the person she was now. Tim had tried very hard to blend in the ugly wallpapers, and she hadn’t cared if he had disappeared completely. It felt wrong to tell him she cared now, and she hadn’t found a way to talk to him ever since. She had clicked with Dick right away, because he clicked with everyone, and by the time Damian had gotten here, not long after them, she’d been ready to let people get closer. Tim had just missed the mark.

Jason wasn’t used to family dinners in the first place. He fit in easily in the atmosphere of the Manor, enough that he’d already seen that kind of scene happen several times, but he still couldn’t believe it was _always_ the same problem and that Bruce refused to do anything about it. Everyone had issues, he knew that, but not everyone had willingly taken in lost kids. If Tim, Dick or Damian weren’t always easy, Jason felt like it was Bruce’s responsibility to bend infinitely to make life easier. He couldn’t quite put together the near worship he’d felt for Bruce Wayne before meeting him and how he felt about him now. It’s not that he hated him. He had just never been as disappointed in meeting someone as he was now. There were a lot of things he loved about him, and he still had burning admiration for the man. But seeing him act around his family, talking to Dick about it, learning about Dick’s childhood, what had happened, the things Dick had endured for his adoptive father… It had changed Jason’s heart. This was no different. He was angry at Bruce for not running after Tim the way Dick had. He had understood Bruce had _issues_ with a lot of things, but there was no forgiving to be had when he had picked himself a family from scratch. He was responsible for them. Not the other way around.

Bruce and Selina were having a staring contest, and neither of them looked ready to back down. Dick finally came back, sitting down in silence. Selina ended up giving in, but the expression on her face made it look like Bruce had been the one to lose.

“How is he?” she asked.

Dick shrugged. “The usual.” No one asked for details. _The usual_ , for Tim, didn’t really mean anything good. Tim’s mental health was a mess, but he handled it differently than most. When Bruce wasn’t on a high, for example, everyone knew it. He was reckless and hurtful and it was like every scar on his skin looked redder. Tim bled much slower, and very few people were clever enough to tell. Tim didn’t want to hurt anyone when he was hurting. Bruce figured that if he was, then everyone else had to suffer through it, too.

“Is he going to eat?” Cass asked, feeling awkward for not really caring.

“Probably not,” Dick said, cutting it short. He didn’t feel like talking about it. It’s not like anyone around the table, save for Alfred and Jason, really cared. He knew Selina meant good. But he also knew where her loyalty was. He didn’t even feel like looking at Bruce right now. “Anyway,” he said, feeling Jason’s fingers on thigh, a silent way to show support. He let his hand slip under the table and squeezed the man’s hand. “Maps,” he started, turning to look at the girl, who looked a bit lost in the family drama. “You’re not saying anything. What’s up?”

Maps smiled big, happy someone gave her some attention. “Nothing. I’m happy to be here. I like this place.”

Bruce snorted, and everyone turned to him. He felt like if looks could kill, he would have been dead about four times in less than a second. He didn’t feel like apologizing.

There was no reason for his anger or need to hurt. It was just building up from glances and small words and missing people left and right. It always started like this. Someone would do something he didn’t like, and it would tumble down to _this bad place,_ where all he could do was being mean and rude because he didn’t know how else to be, and because in those moments, it was the only way he felt at all. He had barely ever had the kind of black depression where he couldn’t feel anything. When he wasn’t feeling normal, god forbid _happy_ , he was bleeding out everyone around him and sucking up those emotions just so he wouldn’t be empty. He wished he could have felt bad about it, but it was way out of his control now. The room was spinning a little, and he wondered why family dinners made him dissociate faster than light. Dick’s look was annoying him. His elder had that face where he was trying to warn him not to go down that road. Bruce hated it. It was ridiculous and desperate at the same time. _I’ll do what I want_ , he just screamed back with a little smirk.

Maps looked confused at everyone’s reaction, and she blushed crimson, staring at her potatoes.

Damian looked at his dad, frowning, hurt that he would react this way. He felt embarrassed that his friend would feel bad when she’d just been nice to everyone, and he didn’t quite know what to do to make it feel better.

“We’re happy you’re here too,” Cass said, smiling at Damian clumsily.

“I heard from Damian you’re not from Gotham,” Dick tried again, refusing to let Maps’ voice die under Bruce’s harshness. “Do you like it so far?”

Maps shrugged, a bit shy now. Damian encouraged her with a little nod, kind like he had never been. “I was born here,” she said. “I just haven’t lived here a lot, my parents move often.”

“Which city do you like best?” Selina said, helping Dick get the conversation going.

Maps seemed to think it over. “I liked Kobe and I liked Metropolis. Gotham is a mean city.”

Cass nodded. “I agree. Metropolis is much brighter.”

Dick gave Cass a warning glare. _Are you guys_ trying _to get Bruce angry?_ Selina shrugged, and Cass stared back, unbothered. The two girls looked like they didn’t really care what Bruce was going through. Dick admired them for it. He was always the one tiptoeing around Bruce’s mood. He was getting better at not doing it, but his heart would always feel half the damage Bruce’s one was taking in. Whenever he hurt Bruce, it was just being thrown back at him at some point. He hated that Bruce took advantage of it. This was the lowest his father could go, yet he had no problem going there. Whenever they fought, there was this spark in Bruce’s eyes that said _no matter how hard you hit, you’re never going to win_.

“I like Gotham,” Damian said, a little panicky, as if, like Dick, he could feel the time bomb that was Bruce ticking away.

Bruce looked at his youngest son with blank eyes, as if to tell him this wouldn't work. Damian went back to staring at his dog under the table.  

“Would it kill you to try?” Dick muttered between his teeth, looking at Bruce ardently. “You were fine 10 minutes ago!”

A voice inside Bruce's head was shouting that he could do this, that there was a way he could avoid the upcoming disaster. That he could make an effort. That he could walk to the kitchen and take his meds, even though they didn't work that way. It would show that he was doing his best. Another voice was telling him his glass of wine was empty and the scars on his arms felt scratchy. He looked at Dick and refilled his glass. As he took a sip, he rubbed his scars under his shirt, hating himself for it. He knew the faint scars weren't doing anything. _You don't need to scratch them._ He didn't want Dick to notice, so he rolled up his sleeves, his nails grazing the white lines, hiding the gesture in a bigger one.  

“I heard Dick's going to Europe?”

Dick turned to Selina abruptly. Bruce gave her a hopeless look. _That's not fair_ , he wanted to tell her.

“Selina, please,” Dick started. He knew Selina wanted to accelerate the ominous ticking and wear Bruce out so that he'd go out and leave them alone to eat in peace, but this topic would only rile him up. “BAD idea.”  

Bruce was trying not to get into this, but his sleeves were rolled up and his skin was still playing tricks on him and a drop of wine that had fell on his wrist looked like blood. “He's not going anywhere.” 

Jason took in a breath. “I think it's best if we just change the—”

“No, I am,” Dick answered, putting his fork down against his plate, hard.  

Bruce glared. “I thought your second name was damage control.”

“You're trying to make this hard for everyone, I don't see why I should keep trying to salvage the evening,” he answered, sending Selina a look.  

“Because you're not the only one in the room,” Cass said coldly. “Maps, you were saying.” 

Maps looked at Damian for help, but Damian had understood there was no way this ended well, and was just staring in the void somewhere behind Maps.  

“Uh...” Maps just said. 

Dick and Bruce were still looking at each other. “I called the University,” he said, cutting Maps off, which owed him a punch on the shoulder from Cass. “They're probably going to take me in. I'm going.”

Bruce's mouth twitched. “You're staying.”

“I'm not.”

Damian suddenly snapped back to reality. “Dick, you can't go.”

Dick sent a kind smile to his little brother. “We'll talk about it together later.”

“No, no no no no,” Damian said quickly, panic bubbling up his throat. It was very unlike Damian. “This is just unrealistic. If you leave the Manor it will burn down.”

There was a long silence. Dick was speechless. He had said those words to Bruce a while ago, but he hadn't thought anyone else agreed. Damian was all about his dad. “Why would it, Damian? Alfred won't let that happen. Neither would your father.”

The kid just shook his head. “Alfred isn't my big brother. Alfred doesn't come to parents meeting at school. I don't talk to Alfred about things.” The silence went on, heavier. Dick was silently begging Damian to stop the list here. “Dad doesn't know when I'm not feeling well. Dad doesn’t know anything about anyone. The only thing Dad does at home is lie to me and ground me for ignoring Tim even though he does the same thing every day.”

Bruce let his knife drop on his plate. Selina had her hand over her mouth, and Dick was just helplessly looking at his little brother, gaping like a fish out of water, trying to find something to say that would make everything better. Maps, too, was staring at Damian with big, wide eyes. Someone cleared their throat, and everyone turned like one person to Tim, standing there in the doorway again.

“I was hungry,” Tim just said, and he gave Damian a weird look. There was something so _kind_ in the way Damian had talked about Tim a second ago, like he was defending him and attacking Bruce at the same time, and Tim had been taken aback by the words. He didn’t think Damian cared enough to notice. He didn’t think Bruce was so _obviously_ dismissing of him that a kid that young would pick up on it either. “But I’m just going to go directly to the kitchen.”

“You can come and sit,” Dick said, but his voice was flat and his eyes dead.

Tim actually laughed, waving away the entire table. “Not to save my life. Ignore me. I don’t exist. I was never here. Have fun,” he said to no one in particular, walking back to the kitchen.

 The entire table heard him ask Alfred who started. _Who do you think, Master Tim?_ Bruce gritted his teeth. Tim spoke again. _Bruce?_ A sigh was heard. _Who else._ Alfred’s voice again.

“I didn’t _start_ ,” Bruce hissed.

They looked at him. “I’m not hungry anymore,” Damian said.

“Eat,” Bruce, Dick and Cass said at the same time.

Jason cleared his throat. “Would it be considered rude if I just got up and joined Alfred and Tim in the kitchen?”

“Yes,” Bruce, Dick and Cass said at the same time.

“I want to go, too,” Maps whispered.

Jason heard her and put his palms flat on the table to get up. “Then so be it. I’ll be rude, but I didn’t come here for awkward silences and family drama.” He grabbed Maps by the shoulder and she sent him a grateful look. “Let’s go, girl. Tim and Alfred’s counterparty sounds much cooler.”

“Jay,” Dick just said, sounding betrayed.

Jason looked at him on his way to the kitchen, shaking his head with a sorry face. “You know I’m on your side.” _But I’m not sitting through it_ was the end of the sentence. Jason knew Dick couldn’t and wouldn’t blame him. This was way more than he had bargained for, and his fist was already tingling with the need to punch Bruce in the nose. Jason couldn’t shake off how Tim had looked, and he wanted to make sure the kid was okay. Tim deserved better. He walked in the kitchen and winked at Maps when she thanked him. Alfred let her sit down on the table and gave her crisps to eat. Tim was rummaging through the fridge to find food to make a sandwich, and everything just felt better. The Wayne kitchen was always a safe, calm space, because it was Alfred’s.

“You alright, Tim?” Jason asked, smiling gratefully at Alfred, who pretended everything was fine and well.

Tim’s head poked out of the fridge. “Sure. I was feeling bad but then I realized I would be feeling worse if I was there with the rest of you, so this is actually a good evening.”

Jason snorted. He could heard Dick and Bruce arguing from here. “Should we rescue Damian?”

Tim seemed to think it over. “Was he accidentally being nice to me earlier?”

“He’s more often than not being nice to you,” Jason said, a smile forming on his lips, “but only when you’re not here.”

“Yeah, well,” Tim answered, uncomfortable. “Forgive me for not thinking that’s enough.”

“You shouldn’t think it’s enough. But he’s young.” _It’s not like Bruce_ , Jason wanted to say, and didn’t.

There was a loud noise in the dining room that resembled a plate crashing and Alfred moved forward faster than all of them. Jason realized he’d been tense as a wire, trying to mind his own business while also avoiding a disaster. They all moved after him, expecting the worst. A plate was shattered in pieces on the floor, but none of them had expected it to be Damian’s.

He’d been very silent through the Bruce/Dick fight until he couldn’t anymore. They had all turned to him as the plate broke, and he got up from the table, staring at his father. “I know you lied about mom.” He didn’t wait for another reaction and ran away from the table, up the stairs and to his room, his dog running behind him. Maps took off after him, yelling his name, wanting to make sure he was okay.

“Congratulations,” Dick told Bruce. “You don’t even lie to your kids properly anymore.”

Bruce hit the table with his fist. “ _Stop_.”

“Fuck you, Bruce,” He hadn’t really noticed when the evening had gotten that bad, but it was often the case with Bruce.

“There was no need to drag Damian into this.”

Dick opened his mouth, humourlessly laughing. “Stop blaming me when things go bad like this! It’s not my fault! I didn’t do anything!”

“You want to leave, take responsibility for what goes with it.”

“This isn’t my fault!” Dick answered, his voice higher than usual. No one could say if he was sad or angry, but there was a sort of urgency in his voice, like time was running out and anything he could say wouldn’t be enough. “Stop guilt tripping me into staying! I’ve done more than enough! I’m tired of being damage control! I didn’t take Tim in! I didn’t let Cass stay around for years! I’m not Damian’s father! I never wanted _any_ of this!” He took in a breath. “This isn’t my responsibility. It never was. It never was and I’m _tired._ I carried it for so long. I carried _you_ for so long. I’m done.” He had gotten up at some point, and decided it would be best if he just left. “Let me go,” he whispered, not knowing if Bruce would hear. “Just let me go.”

A phone rang in the silence that followed Dick’s words. It took Bruce a while to realize it was his, vibrating on the table next to his glass. He glanced at the screen. “It’s Clark,” he said out loud, like he didn’t believe it. He looked at the people around, and everyone stared back, save for Jason, who only had eyes for Dick. “I should take this,” Bruce ended up saying, dismissing everything Dick might have said in a small gesture of his wrist as he put the phone against his hear.

He saw Dick leave the room in the corner of his eye, and Jason walk behind him, calling his name the way Maps had called Damian’s a minute ago. He put the phone to his hear, ignoring Selina’s aggravated look. “Clark?”

“Babe?”

Bruce almost said _who?_ before he caught himself. He was _babe_. This was a thing now. “Speaking,” he just answered.

There was a small silence. “You alright?”

“We’re…” Bruce looked around at the half empty table. “Having dinner.”

“Shit, I’m sorry,” Clark said. “It won’t take long. Look… Can I ask you a favour?”

“Ask away.”

Clark took in a deep breath. “I’m really sorry to ask this of you, but do you think it’d be possible to go get Kon from the airport tonight?” Bruce frowned and opened his mouth to answer, but Clark was faster. “It’s a long story, but he was supposed to be with his father in New York this week, and then come to Gotham with me. Turns out his father didn’t really plan for this, so he’s all alone in New York. I’d send him back to Metropolis, but I’m crashing at a friend and I don’t actually have any room for him right now, I can’t ask that of Lois, and it’s not worth sending him all the way to Kansas just for a few days…”

“You want to send him to Gotham directly?”

Clark sighed again. Bruce could imagine him walking around, his fingers in his hair. “I can be here tomorrow to get him. I’ll be home early, it’s not a big deal. Tonight’s just really complicated, and he can’t stay in New York alone.”

“Isn’t he 17 or something?”

“He’s going to go out and get jacked and die,” Clark answered. “Trust me.”

Bruce looked around helplessly. He didn’t know if it was a good idea to bring in another kid in the chaos that was tonight, but he felt bad about saying no. He could feel he was Clark’s last resort, and he knew Clark wouldn’t ask him to do this if he had any other way.

“Hold on,” he told Clark. He put the phone against his elbow and turned around. “Tim, are you in the mood to make a friend tonight?”

Tim chewed on his piece of bread. “I’m not even dressed up.”

Bruce put the phone back against his hear. “All good. Let me know when he’s here.”

Tim protested and Bruce waved him away.

“Thank you, thank you thank you thank you,” Clark said in his ear. “I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”

Bruce allowed himself to smile because he knew Clark couldn’t see him from there. “Right.”

“He should be at the airport in an hour and a half. Are you sure that’s okay?”

“It’s good. Tim’s eager to meet him,” Bruce said. Tim waved his hand in a big _no_ gesture.

“I can’t thank Tim enough,” Clark answered.

Bruce turned to his third kid, knowing it would guilt trip him into looking nice and being good to Kon. He wanted Clark to be happy with him. If that meant Tim had to pretend he loved making new friends, so be it. “Clark says he’ll never thank you enough.”

It worked, and Tim blushed a little, shaking his head. “Whatever,” he finally said, angry he’d gotten tangled into it anyway. “I guess I’ll get dressed.”

“We’re leaving for the airport in an hour,” Bruce told him as he got up from the table, leaving Cassandra, Selina and Alfred to look at each other in silence.

“I’ll leave you to dinner, then,” Clark said in his ear.

“I left the table,” Bruce answered. “Tell me about your evening.”

Clark sighed. “I had to deal with family stuff, which usually goes well but this time… didn’t,” he finished flatly. “How about yours?”

Bruce opened the door under the stairwell, the one who led to the caves underground. Most of them had been equipped so the Waynes could put stuff down there, but there were still a lot of dangerous paths under the Manor. Bruce and his older kids only went down there when they felt like being alone and punching stuff. He had rearranged it for the big empty space to be something close to a gym, with equipment for Dick’s gymnastics training— which he barely ever used now.

“I fought with everyone and they all hate me now,” Bruce said like it didn’t really matter.

Clark made a sad noise. “Why? What happened?”

“I don’t know,” Bruce answered after a while, something dark and angry churning in his stomach. “I got mad for no reason.” There was a silence. “Actually, I had reasons. Damian’s never listening to me, and Dick wants to leave but if he leaves I’m going to be all alone and I don’t want that, so I yelled and things went to shit.”

“You need to let him go,” Clark said, thoughtful. “I think it’ll do the two of you some good.”

“Fuck that.” Bruce sat down on one of the training mats. “I miss too many people all the time. I don’t want to miss him as well.”

“That’s life, Bruce. You can’t expect everyone to gravitate around you and put your wellbeing before their lives.”

Bruce didn’t know what to answer and he hung up. Clark called him back a minute after. Bruce hung up again, and Clark called a second time. He accepted the call and put the phone to his ear. “I don’t want to talk about this. I’m just going to be rude to you and then it’ll be my fault again.”

Clark snorted. “You just hung up on me twice in a row. You’re already being rude.”

Bruce hung up and threw the phone away, watching it slip to the other end of the mat. He felt like punching something.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there r 3 reasons why i cut that chapter here
> 
> 1) the semi resolution of this dreadful dinner will take another 5k words and that takes time to read and write  
> 2) the semi resolution of this dreadful dinner is all about loneliness and discussions between couples/small groups of people aka not the vibe of this chap at all  
> 3) hummy said it would work better and i always do what hummy tells me to do


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yall fuck lmao. i lost control of this chap (and this fic) some time ago and it ended up being this. im sorry. 
> 
> big up to hummy n len as always, and also to all of you for liking this fic so much. idk why and how but i appreciate it yall

The car slowed to a stop in front of the airport. Alfred turned to Tim and smiled at him. Tim was looking at the arrival gates, not really sure what he was doing there.

“It’ll be fine, Master Tim,” Alfred said. “You're a very interesting boy. And if you don't like him, you don't have to spend the entire evening with him. It's very kind of you to welcome him here.”

“I would hate for anyone to be thrown in the Manor without a guide,” Tim answered. “Even for one night.” There was a bitterness in his voice that made it clear he knew exactly how it felt.

“He’s just a guest,” Alfred answered, always feeling too far away from Tim to ever really make him feel better.

Tim had always had one foot in the Manor and the other somewhere else, somewhere far and different. Alfred thought maybe Tim himself didn't really know where the other half of his heart was. Maybe it was wandering aimlessly, trying to find something or someone that would let him be whole again. Alfred knew Tim would never find this in the Manor. He had never been a Wayne, no matter how hard he'd try to do everything Bruce did, copying everything good and everything bad so that maybe he'd recognize himself on the family photos.

Tim walked out of the car without answering. He walked to the proper arrival gate, not really knowing what he was looking for. Bruce had told him _a punk_ , but he wasn’t sure if Kon, whoever he was, was a literal punk or if it was just Bruce’s way of talking about him. He waited, uncomfortable, trying to find a guy his age who looked lost enough that he would need to be at the Manor for the night. He didn’t know if Kon knew who he was either. If he was looking for Bruce, they would never find each other. Tim didn’t know if it was a good idea to tell Kon that Bruce was busy fighting every single one of his children to get another lost kid at the airport. Maybe it would be a bad place to start a conversation.

“Wayne boy?”

A young man’s voice made Tim turn. He was standing in front of a slightly taller than him teenager, with ripped jeans and a leather jacket. He had earrings on his upper ear, and a leather band on his wrist. His bag was dangling from his shoulder, and Tim would have liked to know the reason behind his shit eating grin.

“You’re Tim, right?” he insisted, his Metropolis accent ringing funny to Tim’s ears.

“Yeah,” Tim just answered, not knowing what the protocol was to look cool. “How d’you know?”

Kon snorted. “Clark told me to look for the lost dude with the boat shoes and the too big sweatshirt.” Tim self-consciously looked at his clothes. Kon playfully punched him in the shoulder. “Eh, those are ugly clothes but you pull it off. Love your hair,” he added, and started ahead to the exit.

Tim absently touched his messy bun with the tip of his fingers, not really knowing what was happening. Kon looked like the kind of people Tim would _never_ be friends with. He looked like the teens who got themselves in trouble for fun and looked pretty doing it. This was not Tim’s area of expertise at all. He was a-alright with nerdish boys and girls who were smart and didn’t ask much of him. He didn’t know what to do with a leather wearing guy who told him he liked his hair in the same sentence he insulted his shoes.

Tim followed after him, light jogging until he caught up with Kon. “My car is over there,” he pointed as Kon walked the wrong way. “I mean, it’s not my car, but Alfred’s driving us back.”

“Who’s Alfred?” Kon asked, walking next to Tim and looking around, as if he was just about to run off to the next interesting thing. It stressed Tim out.

“Uh,” Tim answered, feeling awkward as always, “the Waynes’ butler. He’s really cool,” he added, not knowing if it made it sound better or worse.

Kon nodded thoughtfully. “You’re not a Wayne?”

Tim chuckled bitterly. “Not a Wayne.”

Kon stopped and looked at him, staring at his face like it was a puzzle he had to solve. “Uhm. Interesting.”

“Not really,” Tim answered, feeling himself blush and hating himself for it. He couldn’t stop staring at Kon and how pretty his hands looked and how blue his eyes were. It was disturbing and unexpected and he didn’t like it. “Quite boring, actually.”

Kon shook his head. “No way. I don’t believe anyone’s uninteresting.”

Tim stared, raising one eyebrow. “Haven’t decided if you wanted to be a hippie or a punk yet?”

Kon was taken aback by Tim’s mocking question, but smiled anyway. He winked at him and started to the car, guessing correctly that it was the expensive one waiting down the sidewalk. “You’d be surprised to know how much hippies and punks have in common, actually.”

“Do they,” Tim answered, not really caring about either of them. He opened the door and pointed at Kon to sit inside.

The man didn’t hesitate, sliding to the other seat and looking at Alfred. “Hello.”

“Good evening,” Alfred answered, glaring back, unimpressed. 

“Does Bruce Wayne pay you well?” Kon asked, his elbow resting on Alfred’s seat. “Do you have healthcare? And enough holidays?”

Alfred stared harder, stopping only one second to glance at Tim, who just shrugged back. “I don’t need a teenage boy to fight for my rights, sir.”

Kon frowned. “Is he making you say that?”

Alfred chuckled and started the car. “The day Bruce Wayne manages to make me do or say anything is the day I die.”

Kon seemed more than satisfied by the answer and sat back, looking around, trying to see the city through the window. Tim was feeling bad about the whole thing. He didn’t really like Kon. He had just met him, but he was too brash and he kept moving and talking and he looked like he didn’t mind being a mess. Also, Tim couldn’t keep his eyes off of him, and that was beginning to be a problem, because Kon wasn’t his _style_ , and Tim had decided he wasn’t into boys after agreeing with himself that The Jason Crush had just been _really strong friendship_. He tried telling his brain that he could find boys pretty without it meaning anything, and looked through the window, as if the sight was more interesting.

“Wasn’t Bruce supposed to get me from the airport?” Kon asked as he pocketed back his phone.

Tim guessed he’d texted Clark to tell him he had gotten here safely. “Yeah, but tonight’s kind of a mess,” Tim answered to avoid getting into unnecessary detail. “So it’s just Alfred and me.”

“It’s cool,” Kon said. “It’s not like I’m going to be hanging out with Bruce. I’m glad you went to get me,” he added, looking at Tim candidly. Tim looked away for lack of other things to do or say, and Kon kept on, unbothered by Tim’s clear awkwardness. “It was a mess at my place too. I won’t feel so lost tonight, it’s just leaving one rich broken family for another.”

“Our family’s not broken,” Tim deadpanned, more aggressively than he had wanted. Kon’s eyes widened and he raised his hands in a gesture of peace. Tim wanted to apologize but didn’t. He wasn’t a fan of the way Kon made assumptions based on very little.

They spent the rest of the ride in almost complete silence, until Kon decided he was bored and climbed out of his seat to sit next to Alfred, who was surprisingly cool about it. They kept chatting together for the rest of the way, Tim envious of how easily Kon seemed to start conversation with anyone about anything. He grumpily sat back and waited until they were home to dump Kon in his room and go back to whatever he was doing before.

They stopped in front of the Manor, and Alfred sighed as he parked the car. Tim knew it was because he worried of what could have happened during the short time they were gone.

Tim was worried, too, but he couldn’t differentiate his regular worry from the additional Wayne-related worry. It was all the same to him. He looked at Kon looking at the Manor with a mocking smile on his lips, and rolled his eyes. Kon saw him roll his eyes and raised his eyebrows, taunting him. _What?_ Tim ignored him and climbed up the stairs to the front door. He dug keys out of his pocket to open the door.

“It’s open, Master Tim,” Alfred said behind him.

Kon was faster, and opened the door, slipping in front of Tim. Tim held back an exasperated sigh and let him go forward. Tim listened for any loud sound of arguing, but didn’t hear any. It wasn’t really reassuring, but at least he didn’t have to explain to Kon what was going on.

“Up the stairs,” he told him so he wouldn’t start roaming around. There was no way Tim was giving him a full tour.

Kon surprisingly listened and waited for Tim to catch up on the stairs. “Been living here long?”

“Long enough,” Tim answered.

“How do you get used to living in a _manor_?” Kon asked, climbing slowly.

Tim shifted uncomfortably. “I was born in one.”

“Oh,” Kon just answered. “It helps.”

Tim couldn’t help but laugh, and when Kon grinned at him he got annoyed that it had worked, and stopped laughing. Kon rolled his eyes, and Tim raised his eyebrows. _What?_ Kon winked and Tim shook his head, climbing the stairs faster. He stopped when he saw Damian on top of the flight of stairs. Tim groaned, which was something that happened every time he crossed path with the little boy.

“Who is he?” Damian said, pointing at Kon.

“I’m Kon.”

“Did Bruce adopt you?”

“Damian!” Tim said. “He’s just sleeping over tonight.”

“Is he your boyfriend?” Damian asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

“ _Damian!_ ”

Kon glared at Tim like he had just learned a life changing information. Tim wanted to tell him Damian was a dumb kid, but had the intuition this would make it worse.

“And who are you?” Kon asked. Damian looked offended. “I’m Bruce’s son.”

“Unfortunate,” Kon answered, which made Damian angrier.

“What, is your dad that much cooler than mine?”

Kon snorted. “My father is a little bitch.”  Tim looked shocked at Kon’s words, and Kon gave him a one shoulder shrug. “It’s true.”

Damian seemed to consider this and nodded. “Sometimes mine too.”

“Eh now,” Tim said, not really knowing why he felt that protective of Bruce. It’s not like Bruce was giving him any reason to be. “Where’s Maps?” he asked to change the subject.

“She’s in my room. I was going to get soda.”

“Shouldn’t you be asleep at this hour?”

“Shouldn’t you stop sleeping in the middle of the day and start living like a normal human being?” Damian answered, snarling.

Tim climbed up the stairs, trying to cut it short. “Mind your own business.”

Damian kicked him in the leg as he got near, and Tim pushed him back. Damian started yelling for Bruce and stopped when he realized he wouldn’t come. No one actually knew where he’d left, and Damian ended up running down the stairs, vexed.

Kon watched him go past and gave Tim a grimace. “You fight six years old?”

Tim moved forward, expecting Kon to follow. “Don’t let him think he’s an innocent child. He once stabbed me with a fork, and I still have the scars to show for it.” He stopped in front of a door and pointed at it. “That’s your room.”

Kon opened it and walked in. It was very clearly a barely ever used guest room. Everything was very clean, but it felt so _impersonal_ Kon wondered if anyone had ever slept in it. Now that he thought about it, the entire Manor felt that way. Like it wasn’t supposed to be a permanent home for anyone, just an unfortunate stop on one’s path.

“Where do you sleep?” Kon asked, turning around as he dropped his bag on the bed.

Tim pointed. “The room in front of yours.”

“Nice,” Kon said, kicking of his shoes. He sat on the bed. It was as comfortable as it looked. “I’ll know where to find you if I need anything.”

Tim nodded, standing there, not really knowing what else to add. “Don’t hesitate,” he finally said.

Kon smiled, but it wasn’t as bright or as teasing as the ones Tim had already grown accustomed too. “I guess you don’t want to stick around. You can leave me alone. I’ll live.”

 _You guessed right_ , Tim thought, but now that Kon had called him out on it, Tim felt forced to stay. He opened his mouth to say something, closed it, opened it again, and ended up ruffling his hair, untying the small bun on his head to give himself something to do. “It’s not that,” Tim ended up saying.

“Yes it is,” Kon answered, his lips curling up in a one sided smile. “It’s alright, I promise. I’m used to it.”

“This is just making me feel like a dick for leaving,” Tim said.

Kon rolled his eyes. “Stop taking things so personally. Get out. I’m going to sleep.” Tim stood there. “I’m serious. This is me kicking you out. I’m absolving you of your sins. Go do whatever it is you do all night that’s not sleeping.”

Tim didn’t drag this on and turned around, closing the door behind him. He hurried in his room before Kon asked him anything else, and only felt comfortable breathing when he was back in his cave. It was familiar and safe. It was lonely, too.

 

***

 

Jason was back hugging Dick, who was standing on his balcony, looking over the garden. It was incredibly hard to calm the man down. He rarely got _that_ kind of angry, and when he did he was all jittery, his thoughts a jumbled mess and his body mirroring it. The worst part was that Jason didn’t know what to tell Dick. He wasn’t one to lie to make things better, but he didn’t want to rub it in either. He didn’t like the way Bruce acted, and he though Dick should’ve left a long while ago. They had spent a lot of time together, sometimes after Jason’s late night shifts, sometimes in the afternoon before them, whenever they could see each other, and a good part of it hem had been just laying there, hands intertwined, bodies always touching somehow, just talking. Talking, talking, talking until they ran out of things to say for the day. Jason had expected a relationship that would be a lot more physical than the one they had. He didn’t know why. Dick was misleading. Maybe it was also that Jason never had a boyfriend he could talk to the way he talked to Jason. He had had Roy, but Roy came from the same gutter he’d been born in, and the talking wasn’t the same.

He knew what Dick thought of Bruce. He knew how ardently he loved him, and how hard it was to untangle himself from the house he had grown in, the one that shouldn’t have been here. Dick would never stop being thankful for everything Bruce had given him. To run away with his money and live his life far away, it was betrayal. Jason didn’t see it that way, but there was no reasoning Dick, and so he hugged him in silence, hoping the man would find a solution.

“I wish I hated him,” Dick finally said, breaking the silence. He turned around, freeing himself from Jason’s grip, walking to his bag to find a barely used pack of cigarette. It was against his athletic life, and he only smoked when he felt like hurting himself. Jason didn’t stop him. “I wish I didn’t care. I wish he could push me to a place where I wouldn’t feel guilty leaving.”

“I don’t think it would help that much,” Jason said, grabbing a cigarette for himself. He lit it and sighed, shaking his head. “You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t care.”

Dick ignored him. “I know he’s not guilt tripping me on purpose.”

“Are you sure?”

Dick clicked his tongue. “ _Yes_. He’s mentally ill. If he knew the damage he left in his wake, he would do better.”

Jason stared and finally nodded, one slow movement of his head. “If you truly, _deeply_ believe that, then you shouldn’t leave at all.”

Dick lowered his head, showing how superficially he believed that, and threw his unfinished cigarette in the gardens, going back inside. “I feel sick.”

“You should rest. Night helps, or whatever it is they say.”

Dick snorted, taking off his shirt. “As if.” He sat down on his bed, thoughtful. “I don’t think I’m even going to be able to sleep anyway. I’m too upset for that.”

Jason neared the bed, standing over Dick. “I can help you relax.”

Dick looked up to Jason. The white streak in his hair had lost its colour, and he would have to dye it again soon. He still looked really pretty under the moonlight shining through the room, his eyes sparkling and his mouth half stretched into a teasing smile. _I love you_ , Dick wanted to say. There were so many things Dick loved about him. The tenacity he showed every day, his wit, his kindness when it mattered, and how honest he was with the people he cared about. _I love you_ , Dick wanted to say, like he had wanted to say before, to Jason and people who weren’t Jason. He hadn’t been raised in a house where those words were painless to say. He had been taught a long while a go that those words would cost him, that getting them out of his throat would be _commitment_ , and that commitment came with expectations and that expectations were disappointments.

He pulled Jason to him, raising his head so their lips could meet. He didn’t think it would in any way help him stop worrying, but it was worth a try. Jason pushed him back on the bed slowly, and soon enough they were all over each other, hands sliding on skin, tongues touching each other and legs pressed together. They hadn’t been really farther than hand jobs – the word alone still made Dick blush, because he wasn’t entirely comfortable with it yet. It was another way of committing to someone, and he wasn’t sure he wanted that. Dick Grayson wanted to be free, he wanted to stop caring about everyone so much. He had too many strings already, and he felt self-conscious about adding more. If he left, it would mean leaving Jason, too. And those hands on his thighs and that mouth on the bare skin of his torso was not something he should be getting used to. He couldn’t keep adding more weight to the ball and chain that kept him in Gotham.

He reluctantly pushed Jason back. “I’m not in the mood.”

Jason stared at him, the deep stare he gave him when he knew Dick was lying, but he backed off. He pulled his shirt back on his torso properly, doing his best to ignore the hardness between his legs. “It’s alright.”

“I’m sorry,” Dick just said, getting up from bed. “I need to know if Bruce is okay.”

Jason looked mildly irritated but Dick ignored him, pushing past him to get to the door. He guessed Bruce would be downstairs, and headed directly for the cave. No way would he be mature enough to go to his room when Dick’s was so close. Jason didn’t initially follow, and he noticed he was behind him as he reached the stairs.

“You don’t have to come,” Dick said. “It might get ugly again.”

“Then I want to be here for it,” Jason answered. “I don’t think it’s safe to stay around him right now.”

Dick didn’t want to talk about it. If Jason was good at noticing the warning signs that meant imposing men were about to throw punches, Dick was an expert at handling Bruce. He was not at the end of his rope yet. He reached the first floor and found Tim standing in the corridor, alone, his fist ten centimetres away from what Dick guessed was Kon’s room. Tim noticed the two of them and put his arm back against his side.

Tim looked at Dick, knowing something was wrong right away. “What’s up? Did anything else happen while I was gone?”

Dick shook his head. “I’m going to check on him.”

Tim stared harder, confused. “Why?” Jason put his hands in the air behind Dick. “Don’t you think it’d be better to let him calm down on his own?”

“No,” Dick simply answered. “What are you doing standing here in the hallway?”

Tim looked embarrassed, all of a sudden. “I didn’t want to spend the entire evening with Kon, and he said he didn’t mind, but I think it was a lie and now I feel guilty.”

Dick smiled. Tim was too kind. “Wondering how to tell him that without looking like an idiot?”

“Yeah,” Tim answered, ruffling his hair.

“How long you been standing there?” Jason asked, walking toward Kon’s door.

“A good ten minutes,” Tim reluctantly admitted.

Jason stared at him and shook his head. Before Tim could react, he opened Kon’s door. The man was sitting on his bed the wrong way round, foot against the wall, his headphones plugged in. He turned his head and frowned. He took out of his headphones but didn’t move. “Yeah?”

Jason pointed at Tim. “He feels bad for leaving you alone.” He pushed Tim inside. “You’re welcome.” He closed the door behind him and started down the stairs before Dick could react. “Let’s get it moving, Dickie.”

“In a hurry?”

Jason turned his head. “I’m waking up early to go to work tomorrow. I’d rather not spend the night fighting with your father and go back to you and your bed.”

“Who says we’re going back to what we were doing?” Dick smirked.

“You haven’t put your shirt back on.”

Dick didn’t answer and moved past his boyfriend. The entrance to the cave was through very old and possibly dangerous stairs. They went in together. Dick had seen the cave being renovated to accommodate whatever he wanted it to be. He hadn’t been scared of it in a long time, but he still remembered the first time Bruce had taken him there, holding him on his shoulders, telling him the bats were friendly and he had nothing to be afraid of. They had searched some of the paths that led god knew where together. Dick had fond memories of afternoon spent exploring, back when things were good and Dick hadn’t been able to understand Bruce’s mood swings. Back when Alfred still managed to get Dick uninvolved in his father’s issues. A long time ago.

Bruce had his fists on a heavy bag Selina was holding. She had gotten rid of her heels at the edge of the mat, and she was carefully hiding behind the bag so Bruce wouldn’t accidentally punch her in the face. She was used to this exercise, moving graciously, planning his movements like it was the easiest thing she’d ever done. Dick liked it better when Selina could punch back. The two of them boxing was always quite the show. But he guessed it wasn’t the night to give Bruce the opportunity to hurt someone. Selina saw him in the hallway and gave him a nod. She backed away from the bag as Bruce hit it hard, and it swung around, circling back to him. He stopped it with one hand.

“What d’you want?”

Dick shook his head. “To talk.”

Bruce grunted. “Kon here?”

“Yup,” Dick said. “No thanks to you,” he added.  

“He got here, didn’t he?” Bruce answered. He punched the bag again, but without some kind of pressure on the other side of it, it swung away again. Selina made no movement to help, instead going to stand next to Jason. “Make yourself useful,” Bruce told Dick.

Dick had expected this and got in front of Bruce, grabbing the heavy bag. When he’d been a kid, he had loved to see his father train, whether it was with Alfred or Selina. He hadn’t, at the time, realized it was an outlet so that he wouldn’t take it on other people, but it had made him look powerful and fearless and invincible. Now it just made him look sad and tired.

Bruce didn’t wait for Dick to get himself together and threw the first punch, clearly expecting Dick to speak first. Dick could hold his own, and he pushed the heavy bag back, forcing Bruce to shuffle backward.

“You wouldn’t mind if it was Tim leaving,” Dick started, concentrating on Bruce’s movements. “And you _know_ I will come back every month.” He wasn’t sure if he was trying to reason Bruce or argue with him. He had lost track of their fights a long time ago, especially this one. This was the last time he tried.

“Stop bringing Tim up every time,” Bruce said between short breaths. “My relationship with Tim is none of your business.”

“But you wouldn’t mind,” Dick insisted. “You let Cass go.”

“Cass was never even here,” Bruce answered, slowly running out of breath. Dick kept swinging the bag from one side to the other, and it was becoming harder to keep up, especially because Dick was making no effort to help. He was just randomly throwing it on one side or the other. It was making it harder for him to dodge punches, too, but he didn’t believe Bruce would hit him. “You were the first. Sometimes it feels like you were always here.”

Dick stopped the heavy bag and put it back in front of Bruce. “Is this what it’s about?” Dick tried to be kind. “I know it’s hard for you to deal with stuff, but it’s the curse of every parent. You didn’t think I’d stay here forever, did you?”

Bruce looked at Dick. “I didn’t think I would live that long.”

There was a silence as they stared at each other. Dick knew this was true. He remembered Bruce doing well enough that he got full custody of him, and he remembered growing up as it got worse. There had been no reasons why. It was the tragedy of it, he thought. It was just Bruce’s brain, telling him that this was it. That there was no way out and nowhere else to go, nothing else to be. Dick had spent a long time asking himself why things had gotten bad, why Tim had never had the childhood Bruce had offered him. He had spent a long time asking himself why, after burying a father, he had had to wash away another father’s blood in a bathtub in used every day. An even longer time wondering when it had stopped being _Dick_ running to Bruce’s bed to help with the nightmares and instead had become _Bruce_ knocking on Dick’s door with a stupid reason to wake him in the middle of the night that wasn’t _the voices in my head are screaming tell them to stop_. The only thing Dick was still trying to get was the moment they had stopped being a duo. The moment they had stopped hugging through nightmares and understanding each other in a glare and the moment Bruce’s cloudy eyes had become threatening instead of worrying. Dick didn’t know _that_.

“You lived that long,” Dick finally answered. “Just because it was unexpected doesn’t mean you don’t have to deal with it.”

“Should’ve died sooner,” Bruce said, and he went pack to punching the bag.

Dick punched back on his side, and Bruce almost fell dodging. “You don’t want to be alone but you wouldn’t mind if _we_ were?”

“You would survive,” Bruce said. “You don’t need me as much as I need you.”

“How do you know?” Bruce punched harder, and it was Dick who shuffled backward this time. He grabbed the heavy bag and stopped its movements, staring at Bruce dead in the eyes. “How do you know?”

Bruce was getting more and more frustrated. He hit the bag at the centre, forcing Dick to push back so it wouldn’t move. “I have nothing if not you,” Bruce finally said, so quietly Dick thought he’d dreamt it. “When _they_ died, I thought I wouldn’t ever make it to 21. I couldn’t stand the thought of having this entire house all by myself. I couldn’t swallow what was happening to me. Then I did. I survived. It was unexpected, but I did. I took you in, because I couldn’t stand there and watch as another little boy that looked just like me went through the same thing. And then you made me better.” Dick was losing his grip, trying to contain whatever emotion he felt, hiding behind the bag so Bruce wouldn’t catch his eyes and decide he had talked enough. “And then I got used to having you around. I brought you everywhere. You grew up to be amazing. People told me I did that. I’d done something good. And then you grew up, and I got bad again, and you were still here. I survived a second time, all thanks to you. And you stayed. You were still impossibly _here_ and I was still alive and you graduated and you took that stupid job as my TA, and no matter what happened to me, you were still _here_.” He punched the side of the bag and it escaped from Dick’s hand, swinging in the air back and forth between them. “And now you want to go.”

“Me wanting to go has nothing to do with you,” Dick said. “I’ve told you that already.” Dick’s voice was a little shaky, but he managed to get the words out of his throat all the same. “I would do it all again, and if you ever called asking for help I would fly back in a second. But I’m still leaving. Don’t take it out and everybody else.” Bruce snarled and hit the bag in mid-air, sending it flying the other way. Dick shook his head. “You can hit that bag as hard as you want. I’m still not your pet. I’m not your charity case, and I’m not here to make you feel good about your life either. I’m glad that I did, and I’m glad that you still think I can, but there are limits to the things I can do for you.” Bruce punched the bag again, showing exactly what he felt of his son’s words. “You refuse to go back to therapy. You don’t take your meds. You treat your kids like shit even when you’re feeling alright. You make no effort to do better when you could. Maybe I would be staying if you weren’t threatening me into it. Maybe I’d be staying if I thought there was still hope for you. Maybe I’d be staying if you didn’t blame me for not giving you help you don’t even want to ask for it.”

Dick finished his sentence, and a second later, he was on the floor. Bruce saw Selina run to him, and as Jason leaned over his boyfriend, Selina slapped Bruce in the face. Everything went too fast.

“Did you do that on purpose?” Dick asked from the floor, his palm against his left eye. “Did you hit me on purpose?” There was a long silence as Bruce looked at him, his fist shaking, his eyes lost. “Tell me you missed the bag.”

“I…” Bruce looked at Selina, who spit on the mat next to his feet. He remembered the bag swinging, and he remembered his fist leaving his side, and he remembered being angry at Dick for all the mean words he was saying. But he didn’t remember his knuckles hitting his son’s face. “I missed the bag, Dick, of course I missed the bag… I-”

“Too late. Too fucking late, Bruce.” Dick got up from the mat and pushed Jason. Jason looked torn between beating Bruce up and holding Dick back. He didn’t have to choose, because Selina stopped Bruce from moving forward as Dick ran away from the cave. Jason looked at Selina, asking her silently if she would be okay. She gave him a sharp nod. It was all he needed to know. He ran after Dick, yelling his name. He reached him as he walked out the cave, a huge bloody bruise already forming around his eye.

Alfred walked out of the living room when he heard yelling.

“Dear god,” he just said, hurrying toward Dick. “Who did this to you?”

Dick looked up at Alfred, a broken smile on his face. “Who do you think?”

Jason had ran to the kitchen to get ice, and was coming back just as fast, wrapping it in a towel. He tried to make Dick press the ice against his eye, but Dick didn’t want to hear it.  

Dick grabbed Alfred by the wrist. “I’m taking Damian with me, and Tim, too, if he wants to come. And I’m leaving. Right now.”

Alfred looked at Dick gravely. “What do you need, Master Dick? What can I do?”

Dick just shook his head. “Keep him busy. I need twenty minutes to pack and get Damian ready.” It was hard to look at Alfred’s sad eyes, but Dick thought it would have been dishonest not to. Alfred had always been on his side. Always, always, always. He knew he would understand. He knew if he asked Alfred to leave with him, Alfred would try and make plans to satisfy everyone. “I’m sorry, Alfred.”

“There is nothing to be sorry about, Master Dick. Go,” Alfred told him. He grabbed the ice from Jason’s head and put it against Dick’s eyes. “Take care of yourself.” Dick smiled and nodded as Alfred left the way they had come, toward the cave, and toward Bruce.

Jason looked at him. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” Dick answered. “I’m sorry you had to witness this.”

Jason shrugged. “That’s not the wildest thing I’ve seen in my life.”

Dick pushed him away playfully. “Are you with me?” he asked anyway, wondering if Jason would follow him if he gave him the means to do it.

Jason looked at Dick, wondering if he knew how alike Bruce and him were. “I’m right here, aren’t I?” Dick stared back at him, and they looked at each other in silence. Jason was embarrassed by that kind of talk, and just pushed his boyfriend forward. “Come on. You don’t have any time to lose. It’s time to pack your shit and _go_.”

“Okay,” Dick said, more to comfort himself than to answer Jason. “Okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> taking End Notes Opportunity to be serious for a second.. i wish i was a good planner and i could tell yall specifically when to expect what but i don't trust my own ass, i just want to warn anyone that might be bothered by it that things might get a little.. rough?? in the next chapters re: mental illness and suicidal thoughts etc. nothing graphic because i don't fuck with that and i don't think it's useful, but if anyone's easily triggered, maybe thread carefully through the incoming chapters!! i'll put up a warning beforehand when i know exactly what i write but i just wanted yall to get psychologically ready. i swear it ends well. i'm sorry i'm like this. bye


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yall fuck remember that timkon i promised ten years ago? yea same. enjoy it cause after this chapter everything goes to hell again

Tim felt Jason push him inside the room and didn’t protest fast enough. Jason had already closed the door. He turned back to Kon slowly, blushing crimson.

Kon sat up on the bed, curious. “You feel bad about leaving me alone?”

Tim had expected the man to laugh, and was taken aback by his seriousness. “Uh… Yeah.” He rubbed his neck, embarrassed. “Guilty, mostly. I know it’s not fun to be thrown into a house you don’t know, it was rude of me to just leave you like this.”

Kon sat there, looking lost and confused. When he realized Tim was staring at him with a frown, he shook himself, clearing his throat. “Thanks, I guess. But you don’t have to make yourself hang out with me.”

“I want to,” Tim insisted. “I want to. I’m just not… I don’t like going out of my comfort zone is all. But then I complain about having no friends, so I guess I have to make an effort.” Kon smiled and Tim smiled back, trying to relax. “You don’t look like that would be an issue for you.”

Kon snorted. “Don’t I look surprised?”

Tim looked at him. “Yeah,” he answered after a pause. “You do. But I don’t know why.”

Kon put his palms up. “I can look as cool as I want, I’m still in a stranger’s house, pitied into a friendship because everyone else couldn’t take care of me more than ten minutes.” Tim started speaking, and Kon stopped him before he could object. “Nah. I’m not one for fake reassurances. My parents don’t care about me, Clark doesn’t care about me, my grandparents have nothing to say to me and most of the people I know are friends for one night. I’m not used to someone feeling guilty about leaving me behind.”

Tim went to sit next to Kon. “I understand the feeling.” 

Kon punched him in the shoulder, grinning. “I thought you might.”

Tim blushed again and pushed him away. “Yeah, well, don’t start getting all emotional on me.”

“What do you want to do?” Kon asked, feeling motivated again. He was looking at Tim’s pretty face and wondered how someone like this grew up in Manors. He didn’t know _that_ much about the boy yet, but he knew that all he wanted for the evening was to sit down in the big, scary gardens, and kiss as they told each other everything about themselves. It was a strange feeling to have, but it wasn’t Kon’s first time falling in love in a second. It happened often, and most of the times it didn’t last. He liked this about himself. It made life less lonely. Still, he felt like Tim Drake was a boy no one would be falling in love with without hurting themselves in the process, and wondered if Tim knew about that. If Tim knew he had calculating eyes and a mean face.

“I don’t really know,” Tim answered, staring ahead. “It’s not like we can get bored in the Manor, but I don’t want to run into anyone.”

“Bruce, you mean,” Kon said, trying to poke holes in Tim’s shells.

Tim glared at him. “Yeah. You don’t want to run into him either, trust me.”

“I do, actually,” Kon said. “I want to ask him what he thinks of the prison-industrial complex of Gotham City and what he’s doing for it to change.”

Tim started laughing. A clear laugh, one that Kon decided he liked. “Just go to one of his classes. He’ll tell you all about that.”

“Will you take me?” Kon asked, feeling adventurous.

Tim got up from the bed. “I’m not going to college anymore, but I’m sure he’ll let you sit through them.”

Kon wasn’t satisfied by the answer. “It’s no fun if you’re not there.”

Tim frowned at him. “I’m no fun anyway.” Kon rolled his eyes and Tim clicked his tongue. “I’m not just saying that to get compliments, I’m serious. I’m not a fun guy.”

“You’re a pretty one,” Kon answered in a second.

“I’m not gay,” Tim stuttered.

Kon gazed back at him. “You can be straight and pretty.”

Tim looked pained by that answer and just clicked his tongue again. “Don’t say things like that?”

“Why?”

“Because it makes me uncomfortable.”

Kon seemed to think it over. “You’re uncomfortable with gay people?”

“NO!” Tim protested, raising his hands up in the air. “Of course not. I am surrounded by gay people all day.”

“So you’re uncomfortable with _you_ being gay?”

Tim pointed at Kon. “Don’t psychoanalyze me. Let’s go back to thinking about what we could do. I don’t like where this is going.”

“You don’t like gay stuff?” Kon asked, teasing now just because he liked seeing Tim embarrassed.

Tim protested again. “I like gay stuff! That’s not the problem!” Kon started laughing and Tim backtracked, putting his head in his hands. “I don’t like gay stuff. That’s not what I meant.” Kon watched him try to make sense of it in silence, crossing his knees. Tim looked at him. “I don’t _mind_ gay stuff as long as it doesn’t include _me,_ a not-gay person. The same way gay people don’t have a problem with straight stuff, they just don’t want to have anything to do with it.”

Kon snorted. “I have a problem with straight stuff.”

Tim frowned. “You’re gay?”

“You’re dense.”

They looked at each other in silence for a full minute before Kon got up, a little grin on his face. “Alright. I’ll stop bothering you.”

Tim nodded thankfully. “I swear I’m not homophobic.”

“I believe you,” Kon answered, rolling his eyes. “You know what we need? Alcohol. How can we get to the kitchen without running into someone?”

Tim shrugged. “It’s easy, we’re on the first floor. We just have to listen to the stairs to see if anyone’s walking up or down, they creak super loud. Then it’s just dodging Alfred, that’s more complicated but he should be out of there at this hour.”

“Can we go drink outside?”

“Sure,” Tim answered. He made it sound like it was something he did all the time. He had never actually stolen anything from the kitchen to go drink with anyone, and it sounded like a pretty wild thing to do, but he knew Kon would make fun of him if he pointed it out. He’d just have to pretend he knew exactly what he was doing.

Kon smiled, looking happy about it. “We can go explore the gardens.”

“They’re kinda boring,” Tim said.

“Are you kidding? I haven’t seen gardens that big in my life.”

Tim made for the door. “Isn’t your father rich?”

Kon nodded. “Yeah, but he’s more a penthouse kinda guy.”

“Ugh,” Tim answered, for lack of other things to say. He tried to picture the Waynes in a penthouse. “There’s not enough room for all of us. We practically need a floor between each member of the family to _not_ kill each other.”

Kon grinned, putting his hand on Tim’s shoulder. “Eh, happens to the best families. My father and I need a city between us to avoid murder.”

“Let’s not play who has it worse,” Tim said, thinking about Kon’s pretty hands and getting annoyed at it. The mini gay talk they had had was making everything worse. _I’m not gay_ , Tim told himself. _I’m not attracted to him,_ he thought as he opened the door, listening for noises in the corridor. _I can like someone’s clothing style without wanting to kiss them or whatever. It’s cool._ “The Waynes already like this game too much.”

“Ooooh,” Kon whispered, following Tim out. “Some dirt on the Wayne family.”

“We only have dirt,” Tim whispered back, feeling guilty for saying it. It wasn’t a lie, really, but he still felt some kind of loyalty to them. To trash them behind their back to a semi stranger seemed unfair.

They reached the stairs, listening carefully as they walked down to try and guess whether or not Alfred was still around. He didn’t seem to be here, and they left the safety of the stairs to tiptoe in the hallway that led to the dining room and the bar. The rooms were empty, and Kon winked at Tim as he opened the alcohol cabinet.

“What dyou want?” Tim asked, trying to look cool.

Kon stared at it. “I dunno. What do you like?”

Tim groaned internally, wondering if it was best to choose at random or admit that he never really drank anything save from wine when he felt important at family dinners. “You’re the guest. You choose.”

“Is there coke in the fridge?” Kon inquired. Tim gave him a vague nod. “How about Jake and coke?”

“That straight up sounds disgusting,” Tim answered. “I’m game.”

“Are you more of a vodka/juice kinda guy?” Kon asked, grabbing the bottle of whiskey.

Tim looked at him dead in the eyes. “Can I be honest with you?”

Kon nodded enthusiastically.

Tim sighed. “I’m more of a hot chocolate/marshmallow kinda guy.” Kon burst out laughing and Tim shushed him, trying and failing not to smile, too. “Stop! You’re going to make Alfred come and check on us!”

“You’ve already given up on being cool and we haven’t even started drinking yet.”

Tim moved his hand dramatically. “I’ve given up in general.”

Kon took two glasses from the shelf next to him. “Amen to that, my dude.”

They were about to move from the room when they heard noise in the hallway. Tim gave Kon a panicked look, and Kon shoved the bottle in his jacket, with the easiness of a guy who had done that too many times. Tim tried to understand what the argument was about when Jason ran past them to the kitchen. Tim followed him, worried and confused.

“What’s going on?”

“Bruce hit Dick in the face.”

Tim stopped. “He _what_?”

Jason looked for some ice in the fridge. “I need a towel.”

Tim pointed at a hook next to the sink. “Surely he didn’t do that on purpose?”

Jason stared at him, wrapping ice in a towel. Tim shuffled awkwardly on his feet and Jason kept staring. He didn’t say anything else and left the room as quickly as he’d gone in. Kon appeared in the doorway, looking back at where Jason had gone.

“More drama?”

Tim frowned, upset. “Serious one, this time.”

He made his way to the hallway, where Alfred, Dick and Jason stood, arguing. He hid behind the wall, trying not to get into this, wanting and refusing to take a side at the same time. He had no argument to defend Bruce, but he had understood rather quickly that Dick intended to take them all and leave, and that’s not what he wanted. He couldn’t understand why it would be something Dick wanted either. Dick was the pillar that kept the manor upright. His entire life was there. That his big brother would leave them all behind when Tim was the stranger to this house seemed unbelievable. He listened to it all, to Alfred telling Dick he would help, to Dick asking Jason if he would be here. To Jason saying _yes_ sounding like it was the dumbest question he had ever had to answer to. Tim’s heart tightened painfully in his chest and he came out of his hiding spot, refusing to look back at Kon, feeling his worried eyes at the back of his neck.

“Dick?”

Dick turned. He’d already been on his way up the stairs, and looked surprised to see Tim out of his room. “You’ve been listening?” Tim nodded, looking vulnerable and upset. “You can come with me. You know there’s always room for you wherever I am.”

Tim shook his head no. “I’m staying here. Why aren’t you staying here?”

Dick walked down a few steps, frowning. “Tim, man, don’t do this to me.”

“It’s not gonna help anyone, you leaving. It’s not gonna help Bruce.”

Dick looked at him. He pointed at his black eye. “That helping anyone?”

Tim felt guilty, but he couldn’t stop the words from flowing out of his mouth. “He didn’t do it on purpose.”

“You weren’t there,” Dick answered. “Why are you on his side? What has he ever done for you to be on his side? You know how he is.”

“I…” Tim trailed off.

Dick shook his head and walked back up. “This ridiculous loyalty isn’t going to get you anywhere, Timmy. You should go, too. I’m getting Damian ready. If you get your head together, feel free to join.”

 _Bruce is going to die if you do this_ , Tim almost screamed, but he didn’t. He knew that would be too much for Dick. He _knew_ Damian needed to get away from Bruce. He knew it was Bruce’s responsibility to be better. He knew all that, but he also understood the way Bruce didn’t get out of bed sometimes, the way he barked at people who were trying to be nice, the way he blacked out and did stupid things. They all had issues, but Dick had never had to mix meds because a doctor said it would help him stay alive if he did. The only pills Dick needed were Aderall. The luckiest thing that had ever happened to Tim was his anxiety disorder, that kept him from doing the fucked up stuff Bruce had done his entire life. And yet.

He watched Dick go up the stairs, and felt Kon walk up to him.

“You alright, buddy?”

Tim shrugged. He felt weird and bad and like he wasn’t really here. “Another family falling apart. No big deal.”

Kon put his palm on Tim’s arm, warm and comforting and nice and upsetting. “You’ll get back on your feet.”

“I don’t know what being on my feet feels like.”

 

***

 

Dick was having a hard time shaking off Tim’s words, but felt better about his decision when he opened the door of Damian’s room slightly. Maps and he were lying down next to each other, sleeping soundly with the lights on, all dressed up. From the movie that was playing on the small TV in the room, Dick guessed they had tried to be grownups and pull an all nighter and failed.

He tiptoed to the bed, shaking Damian slowly. “Dami?”

The little boy rubbed his eyes, confused. “Dick?”

“We’re going out,” he whispered. “We’re going to live somewhere else for a little while.”

Damian looked at him thoughtfully, staring at the bruises on his big brother’s face, which hid a part of his eyes but never the kindness in them. “Is it because of Dad?”

Dick knew how Damian felt about lies and cut straight to the chase. “Yes. He did bad things tonight, and I think it would be better for everyone if we let him think it through alone.”

Damian sat up. “Like when I’m being all angry and mean and you tell me to sit in my room and think about what I did?”

Dick laughed a little, his heart breaking. “Exactly like that.”

“Can I still call him to say good night and good morning?”

Dick grabbed his little brother and raised him up from the bed. Damian was only a kid when Dick was around, and he sometimes had trouble putting together the Dami that he knew and Damian Wayne, the smart little boy who was always looking for trouble and acting older than he was. “I’m not taking you away from him like this,” Dick explained. “You can call him whenever you want. We can even go see him from times to times, until he gets better and you can come back. I just don’t think it’s a good thing to live with him every day.”

Damian nodded. “I think I agree.” He pointed at Maps. “Can she come?”

The girl was moving around, slowly waking up. Dick winked at his brother. “Of course she can come. I have to give her back to her parents, though.”

“Okay,” Damian ended up saying. “Should I pack? Can we take the dog?”

Dick chuckled and put Damian down. “If you can explain to Maps why we’re taking her to sleep somewhere else in the middle of the night while I take your stuff, that’d be great.” He grabbed a big bag from Damian’s cupboard. “I think we should let dad keep his dog, though.”

Damian seemed to think it over. “You’re right. Maybe Titus can help him be good.” He turned to Maps, shaking her awake. “Maps, we’re going on another adventure.”

Maps blinked sleep away, rising up, confused and yawning. “What? Where?”

“Dick is taking us somewhere.”

Dick smiled at her, a bit embarrassed. “Nowhere crazy, just a hotel room right now. I’m taking you back to your parents in the morning, we just have to go.”

He sent a helpless look to Jason, who just shrugged back. Jason wasn’t born in a place where splitting town mid-sleep and taking everything you had with you was something wild, nor something to explain. Sometimes you just had to pack your things, take what was important to you and get the fuck out.

“Thanks for the help,” Dick muttered.

Jason shrugged again. “I can’t believe you never prepared for this.”

“I did,” Dick answered, packing the last of Damian’s things. “I just didn’t think there’d be guests on that particular evening.” He paused. “Fuck. What are we going to do with Kon?”

“Tim wants to say, so let Tim deal with Kon.”

“Should we warn Clark?” Dick asked. “I’m going to text Clark. I should also maybe warn Maps’ parents, but I don’t want to give Damian a bad name by telling them what really happened. I need to talk to Kon as well, he can’t go around chatting about this stuff.” Jason raised his hands to try to calm him down. It didn’t work. “Maybe I should wait until tomorrow morning. Maybe this is just impulsive and I should just let the night pass, and leave tomorrow. If I leave at all.” Jason frowned at him, and Dick let go of the bag he was holding. “Look, maybe Bruce didn’t do it on purpose. I can’t punish him for—”

Damian moved to stand next to his big brother and kicked him in the leg. He grabbed his school bag and put it on his shoulders. “I’m ready.”

Dick looked down at him. “Don’t kick me like this.”

“You were about to get cowardly. That deserves a kick.” He didn’t wait for his brother to answer and walked out the room, Maps following him. "I’m going downstairs to say goodbye to Titus.”

A second after, Jason and Dick were alone. Jason smiled as he watched the two kids run down the corridor. “I couldn’t have said it better.”

Dick sat down on Damian’s bed, his head in his hand. “What am I doing, Jay?”

Jason knew he could have sat next to his boyfriend, and kiss him on the temple as he told him _the right thing_. He knew he had it in him to do it. He also knew that’s what Dick expected, that’s what Dick wanted. It’s what Bruce would have done. He grabbed a Lego from the floor and threw it at Dick’s face. It hit his bruised eye and Dick yelped, raising his head suddenly. He didn’t have time to get offended. “Richard, you get your ass up from this bed and you go take your brother somewhere safe. You’ll have time to whine later today. Right now, Bruce is about to go back up regardless of what Selina and Alfred told him, and I’ll let you sit there only if you’re a hundred percent sure he won’t coerce you into staying again. If you’re not, you have about five minutes left. So _move_.”

Dick stared at his boyfriend for a second and threw the Lego back into his face. Jason dodged and Dick got up, pushing him out of his way. “Rude.”

Jason winked at him. “You love me.”

They looked at each other uncomfortably for a second as Dick didn’t answer and Jason regretted saying the words. After a full thirty seconds of silence, they both decided to just move on and walked out the room to the stairs, their fingers casually brushing when their eyes wouldn’t meet. They were back downstairs in a second, Damian sitting on the floor, talking with Titus.

“Titus, you have to take care of Dad.” Alfred watched the little boy, his eyes clouded with worry and sadness. Dick could relate. “You have to be kind to him and sleep in his bed sometimes so he has someone to hug when I’m not there.” Dick looked at Tim over Damian’s head, who was still standing in the doorway of the dining room, upset and trying not to show it. Tim stared back angrily and Dick had to look away. “On Saturday evenings we watch movies,” Damian told Titus. “Don’t miss them. He needs to keep his routine. Okay?” Titus licked his face and Damian hugged him, way smaller than the dog, which would have been comical if everyone around him didn’t feel like crying. “I’m coming back for you soon. Right, Dick?”

Dick cleared his throat. “Of course, Dami.”

There was a little silence, and Maps spoke up. “This is sad.”

Everyone chuckled, except for Jason, who just wanted this family drama to be over. “Are we going?” He asked Dick, pushing him a little. Dick pushed him back.

“Let’s go,” he told Damian, patting Titus on his way to his brother. “We’re taking the Jeep.”

“Where are we going to sleep?”

“Somewhere in Gotham,” Dick answered. “First hotel we find that’s not life threatening.”

“Cool,” Damian answered, and they made to the car, waving Alfred goodbye.

Dick gathered the last of his things and looked at Alfred sheepishly. “There’s still room in the car for you, if you want.”

Alfred chuckled. “Thank you, Master Dick. I appreciate it. I think I’ll stay, though.” _Bruce needs me_ was the unspoken end of his sentence, and Dick just nodded. “Come back soon,” Alfred said instead. “If only just for dinner.”

“Of course we’re coming back,” Dick answered, shaking Alfred’s hand. He turned his head to Tim, who was still silent and furious. “Tim, last chance?”

“Fuck off,” Tim answered, which took Dick by surprise. “If anything bad happens, it’s on you.”

An uncomfortable silence followed, and Alfred put one hand on Dick’s shoulder, and the other on Tim’s. “There is no need for this.” He turned to Tim. “If anything bad happens, it will be Master Bruce’s own fault, and not your responsibility to take care of the consequences.”

Tim shook him off. “Responsibility or not, it’s still us who’ll have to deal with them.” He looked at Dick. “Leaving won’t make you feel better.”

“It will,” Dick answered. “You’ll get there, too.”

Tim just turned around, grabbed Kon, who was looking at the scene with interested eyes, and left through the kitchen. He heard Dick say goodbye and leave the other way, and only stopped walking when the noise of his brother’s Jeep faded out. They were standing in front of the big glass doors that led to the gardens.

“Master Tim,” Alfred’s voice rung out. “I don’t think it’s wise to go explore the gardens at this hour.”

Tim turned around. “I don’t care,” he answered, unusually agressive. “Let’s go, Kon.”

Kon followed, grinning at him. “Teenage rebellion coming through,” he teased, closing the doors behind him.

Tim didn’t bother answering. He’d heard the door to the cave creek on its hinges, which meant Bruce was back, which meant _he_ needed to get the hell away from there before he regretted not leaving with everyone else.

 

***

 

“I _swear_ I didn’t do it on purpose!” Bruce told Selina for the xth time. “Dick was making the bag swing!”

Selina didn’t stop, grabbing her coat on her way out. “It’s not the point, Bruce.” She looked at him, shaking her head. “I thought you’d been better lately.” Bruce looked at her, heartbroken and angry, his eyes dark and scary. Selina took a step back, aiming for the door. She had no reason to stay. “Guess I was wrong.”

“Don’t look so surprised,” Bruce snarled.

“Oh, but I am,” Selina answered, biting her lip. She’d been through hell with Bruce. She’d seen him at his worse and at his best, and knew what he was capable of doing to others and himself. She remembered what it was like to be in love with him, and she remembered how good it had felt not to be anymore. She still cared about him more than she cared about any man in the world, but this wasn’t the Bruce she used to defend. The Bruce she would have fought teeth and claws for wasn’t here today. The Bruce she was facing right now was a coward, he looked like the Bruce she’d seen the first time they’d met, a little shithead who liked to play with fire just to see if there was anything left in him to burn. “You’re not eighteen anymore, Bruce. You have _kids_.” Bruce clicked his tongue and she scoffed. “We’ve had this conversation too many times. Not again. You know where to find me if you decide to get your head out of your ass.”

“Leaving too, uh?” Bruce threw at her, trying to see if she’d bite. If he could guilt trip her into staying longer. He had never succeeded, but it didn’t hurt to try. _Or did it_ , a voice inside his head told him.

Selina shook her head yes, shrugging. “It’s what you want, Bruce. I wouldn’t leave if you didn’t make me. No one would leave if you didn’t make it _impossible_ to stay. The only thing people need to hear to never leave your side is the word _help_. But you’re not getting this word out, uh?”

Bruce swallowed difficulty, trying to keep himself together. “I said it once. I’m still here. It didn’t work.”

“You’re _still here_ ,” Selina pointed out. “It did work.” They stared at each other. She opened the door to leave, shaking her head again as he didn’t say anything else. “Get that word out again, babe,” she said, turning her back on him. “Or you definitely won’t be.”

“Like anyone would care.”

Selina spun on her heels, walking back inside faster than lightning. She reached Bruce and grabbed him by the collar, moving to slam him against the nearest wall faster than he could react. “ _Stop_. Stop doing this.” Bruce stared at her, his head high and his lips trembling, proud as always. “You’re killing everyone around you,” she said, hitting his head against the wall behind him. “You’re so full of yourself. You make _everyone_ care about you, and then you let them down. If I could leave this place without ever turning back, trust me that I would.” Bruce had reopened the lip Selina had cut while slapping him earlier, and blood was trickling down his mouth. “It is _so_ hard to care about you. And I know Dick, Alfred, even I don’t regret what it’s costing us.” She let him go, taking a few step backs, putting her hair back in place. “Show yourself worthy of our hearts for once in your fucking life, Bruce.” She hadn’t meant to get so emotional about it and didn’t want her voice to waver, so she cut it short. “Stop making it so painful to love you. We’re all tired of cutting ourselves on your edges. You’re not the only one bleeding out.”

Bruce stared at her. He watched her go, unable to answer anything, his mouth tasting like copper and his vision blurry. He turned his head to look at Alfred, who looked back coldly, eyes undecipherable.

“What the fuck is going on?” someone asked. They both turned around to stare at Cass, who had left the dinner table a while ago because she hadn’t seen any point in staying longer to witness the argument. “Why is Dick gone?”

“Dick is gone?” Bruce asked, his voice unsteady.

“He took Damian,” Cassandra said slowly, sending Alfred a glare. “Where’s Tim?”

Alfred pointed at the gardens. “Master Tim is with his friend in the gardens.”

“At this hour?”

Alfred shrugged. “My dear Cassandra, I don’t think that is the wildest thing to happen tonight.”

Bruce blinked. “Dami is gone?” His voice was a whisper now. “He’s coming back?” He hadn’t meant for it to be a question, and he wasn’t really asking anyone. He slid against the wall, sitting on the floor, staring ahead.

Cassandra walked to him, towering above him. “I think you need a good night of sleep.”

“My kids are gone.”

“They’ll be back,” Cass answered, sighing.

She crouched and put her arm under Bruce, trying to raise him up. It was an impossible task alone and she asked Alfred for help. The two of them didn’t succeed in doing anything, and Bruce shook them off. “It’s my fault,” he said.

Cass stared at him. “Water is wet. Get up.”

“Everyone I love is leaving me.”

“For the _love of God_ ,” Cass exclaimed, pushing Bruce with all her strength.

He almost fell and caught himself at the last moment, shaking himself off of his daze. He pushed Cass away and got up. “I’m going to bed.”

“Thank fuck,” Cassandra answered. “We can talk in the morning.”

“If I ever get up,” Bruce said.

Cassandra rolled her eyes and pushed him to the stairs. “Come on. Go.” Alfred smiled at her and she smiled back. “I got this. Go get some rest.”

“I’ll check on Master Tim, first,” he said. “He looked upset.”

Cassandra made sure Bruce was still climbing up and stopped. “Let him do whatever he wants. You know Tim, he won’t get _too_ rowdy. I think he needs to have a drink and let it out.”

Alfred thought it over. “I hope Kon stole a good bottle from the cabinet.”

“Knowing him, I’m sure he has.” Cassandra looked up. She couldn’t see Bruce from here, and guessed he’d found the way to his room alone. She sighed. “Good night, Alfred.”

“Good night, Cassandra.” He sighed. “I’m sorry your week here wasn’t a lot of fun.”

Cassandra grinned. “I didn’t expect anything else from this bunch. It’s alright.” She paused, looking around. “I’d miss the Manor if I didn’t come home from times to times.”

Alfred nodded. “I won’t tell anyone you called it home.”

Cassandra chuckled. “An open secret for everyone around here, I’m guessing.”

“I am bound to secrecy,” Alfred answered with a tired smile. “Sleep well, Miss Cain.”

“You too, Pennyworth. You too.”

 

***

 

Tim grimaced as he put the bottle down for the fifth time tonight. He was feeling really dizzy, and was painfully reminded he hadn’t eaten a thing. “We shouldn’t have forgotten the coke.”

Kon almost chocked on his cigarette laughing. In their hurry to escape drama, they hadn’t went back through the kitchen and had decided to drink it dry, which had been a mistake. They didn’t really realize it now, because so far it was fun, but Kon knew Tim would hate him tomorrow morning.

They’d been sitting on a bench not far from the Manor, right under Tim’s room. He had kept the lights on, and they were illuminating their little part of the garden, just enough that they wouldn’t be in complete darkness, but not too much that they wouldn’t see the stars. They’d been drunk for about an hour now, and they’d stopped exploring to sit down before they lost themselves. The atmosphere of the evening was strange. Tim felt comfortable, but he knew that was the alcohol and not what he _really_ felt. The conversation had been edging toward topics he didn’t really like discussing, but he couldn’t stop the words from coming out of his mouth. So far, it was Kon doing most of the talking, but he kept asking questions and Tim kept answering and Kon kept looking at him like he was the one illuminating their bench.

“So that’s the story of my shit family,” Kon ended, bowing to no one in particular. He’d been explaining to Tim how he’d gotten here and it had taken longer than Tim expected. Kon’s family _really_ was shitty.

Tim nodded. “You have abandonment issues.”

“I have _so many_ issues, Tim,” Kon insisted. “So many.” He paused for a second. “But I don’t want to die that much. For a while I did, but now I don’t want to anymore.”

Tim looked at him take another swig and cough. “How did you make it stop?”

Kon wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “What?”

“How did you make it stop? Wanting to…” Tim stopped, embarrassed. He wasn’t drunk enough to talk about suicide yet. “Die.”

“That thing?” Kon answered, laughing. “At some point, I just… Fuck, you know?” Tim stared at him. “You find stuff worth living for,” Kon said, like it was the easiest thing in the world.

Tim waved him off. “That’s shit advice.”

“It’s not,” Kon insisted. “What makes you happy?”

Tim stared for a long time. He ended up grabbing the bottle and drinking from it. He wished he’d been like Bruce, who seemed to like the burn of alcohol in his throat. Tim didn’t. This wasn’t helping at all.

“You don’t have anything that makes you happy?” Kon asked, frowning, all serious in a way that made Tim want to cry.

“What makes _you_ happy?” Tim answered, his voice breaking.

Kon thought it over. “Meeting new people. Traveling.”

“I hate all that,” Tim said.

“I don’t think you do. I think you’re scared to do it.” Kon chewed on his lip. “That’s okay, we can find something else. Something easier.” Tim waited, hoping like he’d never hope before that Kon would magically solve all his problems. “I love waking up early enough to see the sun rise. That makes me happy.”

Tim shook his head. “Yeah.”

“What?” Kon asked, poking him in the arm. “Don’t tell me you hate the sun rising.”

“It means a new day starts. I like when it sets.”

“Does it make you happy?”

Tim tried to be honest, struggling with his feelings. “It makes me feel calm.”

“That’s step one,” Kon said. “You gotta appreciate the _shit_ out of that kind of stuff. Life is hard enough as it is.”

Tim started laughing. “You’re a hippie.”

“And you’re clinically depressed.”  

Tim kept laughing, and soon enough Kon joined him. They passed the bottle around a little more, and Tim decided to stop before he’d feel sick. _Wise little man_ , Kon commented, looking at the nearly empty bottle, wondering at what point they’d drank so much.

“Thank you,” Kon said out of nowhere, and it made Tim stop laughing.

“What for?”

Kon turned his head to smile at him. “For coming back for me.”

Tim waved him off, blushing. “It was nothing.”

“It wasn’t,” Kon insisted. He was good at this. “This never happens to me.”

“Everyone you ever met is rude, then,” Tim decided. “I was just being polite.”

“Nah, being polite was what you were being before you felt guilty. Trust me. I’ve been in enough strangers’ house to know the difference.” Tim rolled his eyes. “Just accept the fucking thank you and move on,” Kon ended up saying, punching Tim in the shoulder.

Tim smiled. “I don’t regret it.”

Kon looked at his lips, red and pretty, and moved to sit in front of Tim, his legs on each side of the bench. Tim did the same, and they were sitting in front of each other, gauging the other in silence.

“You’re really pretty,” Kon said, reaching for a strand of Tim’s hair and wrapping it around his finger.

Tim’s heart was trying to beat out of his chest, and he turned his head. He saw Kon put his hand back on his side and felt sad about it. Tim wasn’t sure Kon had noticed he had brushed his cheek with his knuckles. _He_ couldn’t think of anything else. His cheekbone was burning, and he never wanted to look at Kon’s pretty hands ever again. He felt tears welling up his eyes and turned his head, knowing Kon would notice and hoping he wouldn’t say anything.

Of course, Kon being Kon, he had to say something.

“Are you crying?”

“No,” Tim said, feeling a tear roll down his cheek.

Kon pinched his lips. “I’m sorry,” he finally said. “I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

Tim chuckled sadly, wiping a tear away, feeling foolish. “It’s not you.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Do I look like I want to talk about anything, ever, in my life?”

“You look like you need it,” Kon offered. “I promise I won’t touch your hair again.” Tim looked saddened by that, and Kon frowned. “Except if you want me to?” Another tear rolled down Tim’s cheek and Kon ruffled his hair. “I’m getting mixed signals.”

“I’m not pretty,” Tim said.

Kon stared at him. “Alright, that wasn’t even what we were talking about.”

“You,” Tim started again, the alcohol speaking, “you’re pretty.” Kon looked at him, not daring to move. Tim knew he was still crying, and his voice broke on every word. “I don’t know what my problem is.” Kon let him speak, and Tim looked at the bench so he didn’t have to look at Kon’s kind, worried eyes. “I don’t want to like boys. I have enough problems as it is.”

Kon’s hand itched with the need to put it on Tim’s, but he didn’t do anything. He just lowered his head to catch Tim’s eyes. “Liking boys makes me happy.”

Tim looked back at his friend, wondering if he meant it. He hated his complicated feelings about the whole thing, hated that he wasn’t good enough at lying to fool himself. He hated that all he wanted was for Kon to put his hand back in his hair. He hated some of his dreams and how hungrily he looked at Jason and Dick sometimes. He hated what he wanted to do with Kon and he hated that it was all so confusing.

“I think my dad will hate me if I like boys.”

Kon frowned. “Bruce won’t.”

“Bruce isn’t my dad,” Tim answered coldly. “My dad is in a coma. Trust him to wake up the minute I kiss a boy.”

“It’s worth a try,” Kon said, a soft smile on his lips. Tim didn’t answer, so Kon tried to change the subject. “You call Bruce _dad_.”

“It’s easier to lie.”

Kon put his finger on Tim’s nose. “You know that’s wrong.”

Tim raised his head and Kon moved his finger appropriately, the two of them staring into the other’s eyes. Kon slowly, _slowly_ moved his finger to Tim’s cheek, wiping away a tear that had stopped there. Tim felt like his heart was in his throat, and it took him everything he had not to burst into tears. Again.

“I really want this,” he whispered, damning himself for enjoying Kon’s touch on his skin, as insignificant as it was, “but I don’t think it’s a good idea. Maybe I’m just fooling myself anyway.” Kon frowned, and Tim shrugged. “My house is like, reverse heteronormativity. Maybe they influenced me into liking boys.”

Kon snorted. “I’m not sure that’s a thing.”

“Shut up,” Tim said, pushing him away. “It’s definitely a thing.”

Kon shrugged. “Okay. Let’s find out.”

“I don’t like where this is going,” Tim answered, shaking his head. “Let me wallow in misery and self-questioning.”

“No,” Kon answered. “Do you like it when I touch your hair?”

Tim blushed crimson, grabbing the bottle he had said he would stop drinking from. “Kon…”

Kon clicked his tongue, annoyed. “Come on. Chances are I’m never going to see you again after this week. You can blame it all on the alcohol and I won’t say anything. Play the game. Just once.”

“Fuck,” Tim said. “I don’t know.” Kon raised his hand and curled one of his fingers around a strand of Tim’s hair, voluntarily resting his knuckles against the boy’s cheekbones. Tim’s heart did _the thing_ again, and he moved into Kon’s hand, forcing Kon to put his palm against his cheek. Tim’s fingers shook a little. “Maybe.”

Kon smiled, brushing his fingers against Tim’s face slowly. “I think you do.” He moved on the bench to get a bit closer. Before Tim could protest, he moved his hand to Tim’s neck and dropped a kiss on his cheek, right under his eyes.

Tim was taken by surprise and retreated, looking at Kon like a wild animal. “Don’t. Don’t do this.”

“You don’t like it?”

“I… do,” Tim ended up saying, pushing the word out. “I just… don’t like the idea.”

Kon cocked his head at him. “You don’t think boys kissing boys are beautiful?”

Tim smiled, a sad smile, one that cut his face and Kon’s heart in two. “I think it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. I just don’t think I deserve to be a part of it.”

“Tim,” Kon just answered, frowning, upset and angry at whoever had ever made Tim feel that way. Tim was getting up from the bench, shaking and on the verge of tears again. “Tim,” Kon repeated, and grabbed his hand before he could get far, forcing him to spin back in his direction. He raised his arm to reach the back of Tim’s neck and pressed down. Tim followed Kon’s movement because he had no other choice, alcohol and tiredness and emotion making his legs wobbly. “Tim,” Kon said one last time before raising his head and putting his lips against his.

It was a messy kiss, mostly because of the position they were in, also because Tim had refused to kiss back for enough seconds that Kon had wondered if he hadn’t had just majorly fucked up. In the end, Tim had given up, and the first time he had moved his lips to follow Kon’s, Kon had thought maybe his heart would stop. Tim’s mouth was as soft as it looked, and as kind as his eyes. Tim was hesitant, of course, but Kon knew what to do and how to lead, and for the first time in his life, Tim was happy to follow. They broke apart a minute after, a bit breathless, Kon hoping he hadn’t gone too far, Tim hoping Kon would do that again.

“I must be a bad kisser,” Tim said, because it was the first thought that came to his brain.

Kon put his second hand on Tim’s palm. “Never let anyone tell you you don’t deserve beautiful things, Tim Drake.”

Tim nodded hesitantly. He was out of voice, out of breath, out of time. He didn’t know what happened now. He wasn’t going to do anything more than kissing, but he thought maybe he would die on the spot if Kon didn’t pull back to him a second time.

“Did you like that?” Kon asked, a little smile on his lips.

Tim nodded again. “Maybe. Did you?”

Kon laughed, shaking his head. “Unbelievable.”

“I’m sorry if I’m a bad kisser. I don’t usually… kiss people.”

“What a shame,” Kon answered, grinning, and pulled Tim back to him for another kiss.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a very bad transition chapter to keep things moving because writing is really really hard these days, and because the next chapters will be easier to put down.  
> thank you for the 800 kudos, and the comments i will definitely answer soon. y'all are too kind to me 

Tim blinked away sleep, feeling like he'd been run over by a car three times. Someone was poking him in the shoulder and he raised his head. He looked around, realizing he had fallen asleep on the kitchen table, his cheek against the hardwood. Bruce was looking at him, frowning, holding a tube of ice cream. He pointed at the tall glass of water he had put down next to him.

“Drink this and go back to sleep if you don't want to puke first thing in the morning,” Bruce whispered.

Tim stared, confused. “Why are you whispering?”

Bruce pointed, this time, at the boy at the end of Tim’s fingers, their fingers intertwined. Kon had made a pillow of his jacket and was sleeping soundly. They hadn't let go of the other’s hand. “You’ll wake him up.”

Tim’s evening slowly came back to him and he looked up at Bruce, eyes wide, terrified and embarrassed. He blushed crimson, trying to find a way to explain why he was holding hands with a boy, still half drunk and half asleep. “It’s not what you think,” he said hurriedly.

Bruce rubbed his eyes. He was _way_ too tired for this. “Tim.”

“No, no, I swear!”

Kon moved and his head suddenly snapped up. He winced and looked around, inadvertently gripping Tim’s hand tighter. It sent chills down Tim’s spine, and he knew Bruce had noticed.

“Where are we?”

“My kitchen table,” Bruce answered flatly. He took a bit of ice cream. “Go back to bed.”

Kon looked up at Bruce. “What happened last night?”

Bruce looked at the two of them. “I feel like I should be the one asking.”

“Is everyone really gone?” Tim asked.

“Yes,” Bruce answered. “Why did you stay?”

Tim shrugged. “My stuff’s here.”

“Fair enough.” Bruce said, a spoonful of vanilla ice cream in his mouth.

“What time is it?” Kon asked.

“3:17.”

“Can I have some?” he said, pointing at the ice cream.

“No,” Bruce answered. “I’m going back to bed.” He turned on his heels and disappeared from the kitchen back to his bedroom.

Kon frowned at Tim. “Does he do that often?”

Tim sighed. “When he's not feeling well, yes. I think he's trying to keep it together, though. We all go back to school on Monday. He has to be okay by then.”

Kon nodded absently. His eyes had drifted to Tim’s fingers, still softly pressed in-between his. It all felt strange now, especially because someone else had intruded on their nights of discovery and exploring that was supposed to end with _and then we’ll never see each other again._ There'd been a lot of kissing once Tim had decided he was drunk enough to act like it didn't matter. They had laid down in the grass and watched stars and held hands and Kon had taught Tim how to use his tongue and Tim had discovered he was quite good at it— and that it was one of the best thing he had ever learned in his life. They had stopped when Kon had realized Tim did badly on purpose just so Kon would show him again, _slowly_ , tenderly. Too tenderly.

They had ended up hungry, Tim using that excuse to hide the hardness in his pants that had been bothering him for way too long and that he hoped Kon hadn't noticed. It felt foolish and it was way too embarrassing for him, and so they'd went for some cold pizza. And here they were now, looking at each other, deciding silently if they wanted that night to have happened or not.

“We should go to bed,” Tim ended up saying sheepishly. “My head hurts.”

“We should’ve went back for Coke,” Kon muttered in agreement, rubbing his forehead with his free hand. As he did it, he realized Tim hadn’t let go of his fingers and paused. “Are you still drunk?”

Tim looked at his hand. “Not really.”

“You’re still holding my hand,” Kon answered.

“ _You’re_ holding my hand. Shut up.”

Kon chuckled and looked at the boy in front of him, thoughtful. “What happens now?”

Tim let go of Kon’s hand. “We sleep and tomorrow you leave with Clark.” Tim moved from the kitchen, knowing Kon would follow. “I’m not sure Clark’s even going to leave, actually.”

“What if he doesn’t?”

Tim turned to look over his shoulder, annoyed. “I don’t know.” He turned back to face the stairs, safe from the spark in Kon’s eyes. Safe. Boring. “I have a headache.”

“Let me kiss you again,” Kon said, coming up behind Tim, almost making him trip on the last step. He wrapped his arm around Tim’s belly, his face pressed against his neck.

Tim could feel Kon’s lips on his ear, and felt another shiver down his spine, another burst of heat between his legs, another irregular heartbeat. He was annoyed by how much he was affected by all this. He would have loved to kiss a boy and realize it wasn’t that great. He would have loved to realize the few wet dreams he’d had a few months ago were just that, _dreams_ , and not an ardent desire for the real thing. He knew it was silly, and he’d known from the start he was fooling himself, but he didn’t think he could live now, knowing the fingers of a boy under his shirt could burn his skin so deliciously, knowing the breeze of a sigh in his neck would make his own breathing go wild. The real thing was so much more than he’d expected. He understood Jason’s hungry eyes much better now. Tim had wanted love, always, but this was something else. _Desire_ wasn’t something he thought he’d been capable of. And there it was. Desire wore a leather jacket and rocked an undercut.

Tim moved his head silently, unable to answer, his _yes_ dying in his throat. He felt Kon’s hands graze his hips, turning to face him, making him stumble against the wall, and suddenly there was nowhere else to run and they were kissing again, hard and burning. They hadn’t kissed like that yet, but they’d had time to practice, and when Tim felt Kon’s fingers shaking a little as he slid his palm to his neck, he didn’t feel like apologizing for being a bad kisser anymore. _He_ was doing _this_. Kon’s body was pinned against his, and Tim felt dizzy with the possibilities of what could happen next, of how much effect he was having on someone, drunk on the idea that he’d made a boy shake. Kon’s sighs were encouragement enough to be bold, and he lowered his hands to his lower back, pulling him impossibly closer.

They had to stop kissing to breathe, but somehow it wasn’t easier to get oxygen when they were staring at each other dead in the eyes, hearts battering in their chests and eyes on fire.

Tim nodded for no reason, perhaps to prove he was still in control of his own body. He didn’t feel like himself. He felt _so much better_. Kind of like if the regular Tim Drake he hated had been buried deep to leave some room for The Better Tim, the one who could wink at Kon and own his blushing cheeks and his puffy lips.

“Let’s do that again,” Tim said, surprised he still had voice. “But not in the hallway.”

Kon smiled. “Lead the way.”

 

***

 

Bruce opened his eyes. When you were used to living with a treacherous brain and a die-hard mental illness, there were mornings when you _knew_. You opened your eyes and you just _knew_ that today was bad, that today was one of _those_. Bruce had known it when he’d went to bed that evening, and he knew it when he tried to sit up in the morning. It had been going increasingly worse the past few days, but he’d been doing a good job of containing the bad things and powering through a low week. Yesterday hadn’t ended well, and all his efforts had been ruined. He knew it as clearly as he knew Dick had taken Damian and had went without turning back, showing everyone he couldn’t bend indefinitely without breaking. Bruce had never expected him to. He’d known all of this would end up happening, and he’d been watching it like a car crash in slow motion.

He rolled around in bed, his head pounding and his hands shaking, wondering what had done it this time. Arguing with his brain about why he felt like this, answering one question with another. _Why did you stop taking the meds?_ Why did I blow off Dinah every time she insisted to go back to weekly sessions? _Why don’t you want to get better?_ Is it my fault? _Did you hit Dick on purpose?_ Should I just give up now? _Did you hit Dick on purpose?_ Am I not as strong as I thought? _Did you hit Dick on purpose?_ Can I call for help? _Did you hit Dick on purpose?_

“Help,” Bruce just whispered, remembering what Selina had told him the day before. _It’s just one word._ “Help,” Bruce whispered again, tears stinging his eyes. It was becoming hard to breathe. _It’s too late for that._

And a litany at the back of his mind, always, constantly, never stopping, louder than life. _If your parents could see you…_

Bruce closed his eyes shut and tried to breathe. He tried to count to ten in all the languages he knew, a trick he’d taught Tim when his little boy was caught up in the same panic attacks. His heartbeat slowed down, and he wondered what he looked like from the outside.

All powerful Bruce Wayne often woke up in a sweat, crying like a little baby about things only he could hear. It was easy to roll out of bed and pretend he was made of cold stone, because he’d never let anyone in his bed long enough for them to realize this was a regular event, that being Bruce Wayne was _this_ as well. But _this_ no one spoke of. Everyone had had their chances to talk about pieces of the life he’d let strangers, journalists and paparazzi take away from him. They’d dissected his transformation from fucked up drunk kid to acclaimed professor, they’d wrote think pieces about his coming out and adopted kids, they’d photographed his worst moments and his best, but they never, _never_ had wanted the embarrassing part of him, the sick part, the _he-actually-needs-help_ part of his life. That wasn’t tabloid worthy. That wasn’t worth discussing. This was something he’d been encouraged to hide his entire life, because he wasn’t going to win anything from it. No one would. His mental illness was only interesting when he was on his way to the hospital, vomiting meds in the backseat. It had always been hard to see it any other way, because everyone else did, too. Dick had helped for a long time. But Dick wasn’t here.

  The door to Bruce’s room cracked open, and he recognized Alfred. The butler came in and sat on Bruce’s bed. Bruce remembered when this had been morning routine. When his parents had died, Alfred had done this every day, staying as long as Bruce needed, staying so Bruce would have a physical proof that he wasn’t alone.

“Are we alright, Master B.?”

Bruce shook his head yes. “Just a bad day.”

“Maybe we should call Dinah?”

“I’ll be fine,” Bruce answered, rolling on his back. “I’ll be fine.”

Alfred spoke again, worry dripping off his words. “You need to tell us, if it gets worse. You can tell us.” Bruce nodded again. “I know how hard it can be for you.”

Bruce moved to grab his phone from the bedside table. _12:40_. This was late, especially for him. He was supposed to go back to work the next morning, and still had a lot of things to do. The thought made him feel empty. “I can do this, Alfred.”

Alfred put his hand on Bruce’s. “Until you can’t.” Bruce pushed his hand away. “The farther you push us all away, the louder you’ll have to break for us to hear.” Bruce didn’t answer, and Alfred just sighed. “Mr. Kent called.”

Bruce turned his head. “And?”

“He asked if you’d be here at the airport to get him, or if he should go straight to his house.”

Bruce thought it over. “Cass wanted to see him.”

“But you don’t?” Alfred asked. If he didn’t push Bruce to make full sentences, he would never get any answers.

“I want company.” Bruce thought of all the bad days where Alfred sat as Dick opened the curtains, swinging in, loud and cheerful. He thought of helping Dick train downstairs because there was nothing else he could do, he thought of Dick finding new ways to keep them busy during the day. He thought of Dick knowing exactly what to say and what to do 2 seconds before he himself did. He thought of Dick’s bruised eye, and the sound of the Jeep driving away. His scars itched. “Clark can come straight to the Manor.”

Alfred wasn’t sure this was a good idea, but he wasn’t going to argue. If Bruce wanted people around and _he_ started arguing, the world would probably explode.

“I’ll let him know,” Alfred answered.

“Thanks,” Bruce said, rubbing his eyes. They looked at each other for a second. “I’m _fine_.”

“Get up, then,” Alfred answered. “Go take a shower. There’s coffee for you downstairs. You have to talk to Tim. You have work to do before tomorrow, essays to grade, classes to prepare.”

Bruce groaned. “Leave me alone.”

“Not a chance,” Alfred said, pushing Bruce until he was sitting on the edge of the bed. He didn’t leave the room until Bruce was in the bathroom, the water running. The only thing left to do was hope.

 

***

 

Clark walked out of the airport, yawning. His body hurt and he tried stretching, almost elbowing an old lady in the face as he did. She hit him with his bag and he backed away, cursing.

“That’s how you know you are truly back in Gotham.”

Clark turned around and spotted Alfred, smiling as he stood next to his car. Clark smiled back and picked up his bag, shaking the man’s hand as he put them in the trunk. “Thanks for coming to get me.”

“My pleasure, Mr. Kent. Master Bruce will be very happy to see you.”

“You can call me Clark,” Clark reminded him. “The whole last name master thing freaks me out.”

Alfred glared at him in the rear-view mirror. “I’m sure you’ll live.”

Clark shook his head. “What’s the point of being all British on me if you’re going to be rude anyway?”

“It makes the job interesting, Mr. Kent,” Alfred answered, and started the car.

Clark asked about the week he’d spent away from Gotham, and Alfred made conversation, ignoring touchy subjects but indulging Clark’s curiosity. Clark was happy to be invited back to the Manor. He had realized this week he cared about Bruce a lot more than he had planned to. There was something about Bruce that resonated deeply with Clark, the way they understood each other in a glance, the way Bruce demanded the best of the people who surrounded him and the way they kept challenging each other. He had missed the spark in Bruce’s eyes when Clark caught him being kind, and he had missed slowly, _slowly_ watching the man open up. He was happy to be back, which was a strange and warm feeling. He’d miss kissing his man, too, which was strange, because he hadn’t thought he’d ever call Bruce Wayne _his_.

They got to the Manor rather fast, and Clark argued with Alfred about carrying his own luggage until he saw Cassandra on the steps. He dropped his bags and jogged to her, hugging her as she opened her arms. 

“It’s been _so_ long!”

Cass squeezed him one last time and let him go, smiling. “It’s good to see you.”

“It’s good to see you too,” Clark answered. “How have you been? Still killing them at Metropolis U?”

Cass gave a small shrug. “One of us has to.”

“Come on,” Clark said, punching her playfully. “You know I’ll be back soon.” They walked in together, talking about work and her thesis and Metropolis. “Lois told me you have a meeting with her next week?”

Cass nodded, her arms crossed over her chest. “I’m kind of nervous, but it’s going to be fun.”

“There’s no need to be.”

“There is. She’s one of the best investigative reporter to ever walk this earth.” Cass sighed. “But I’ll make it. Thanks for giving me her number, by the way.”

“Anything for you, you know that,” Clark said. He was about to add something else when he noticed a familiar face standing on the stairs. He raised his head and locked eyes with Kon, who stared back. The atmosphere in the room shifted, from heart-warming to glacial. Clark had been trying for a little while to have a better relationship with his nephew, but Kon was making it really hard. In Kon’s defence, Clark wasn’t really _trying_ either, but still. “How are you, Kon?”

“Fine,” Kon answered. Tim appeared behind him and greeted Clark cheerfully, which annoyed him even more. “Hope I didn’t bother your wonderful week too much by existing.”

“Kon, come on,” Clark said, uncomfortable. “I just couldn’t ask Lois to take you in for three days out of nowhere.”

Kon scoffed. “So you asked a guy you’ve known for a few months in another city instead?”

“I asked a man I _trust_ with a _big house_ that I know wouldn’t have minded lending you a room for a week end,” Clark said, increasingly annoyed. “Don’t be like this. We’re spending the week together. It’s not like I’m pretending you don’t exist.”

“Those were the days,” Kon said dramatically. “You can spend the week on your own, by the way. I decided I like it here, so I’m staying with Tim. Don’t speak to me.”

Clark smiled. “I’m so glad you two are getting along. He’s not bothering you too much?” Clark asked Tim with a wink.

Tim just stared awkwardly. “Uh. No. It’s fine.”

“I’m sorry I kind of forced him on you. We didn’t have much choice.”

“I am _right here_ ,” Kon said, raising his hands up.

Clark clicked his tongue. “I thought we didn’t speak to each other.”

“Fuck you,” Kon answered, and he walked past Clark to the gardens, hoping Tim wouldn’t leave him alone.

Tim followed, glaring at Clark as he went. He caught up with Kon and looked back at the professor, surprised by his animosity. He didn’t expect Clark to be like this with anyone. Thinking about it, he really didn’t know the guy. _He deserves Bruce_ , he thought, and regretted it immediately.

Clark just watched them go and gave Cassandra an apologetic look. She was unimpressed but didn’t comment. “How’s Bruce?” he said to change the subject. As he said the words, he looked around. “Actually, where is he? Where’s Damian? Is Dick here?”

Cassandra made a face. “I gotta go,” she just said, and disappeared up the stairs faster than lighting.

“Dick isn’t here,” Alfred answered for her, closing the Manor’s main doors behind him. “He is with Damian, away.”

Clark was silent for a second. “That’s unusual, isn’t it?”

“Bruce is going through a hard time,” Alfred said, choosing his words carefully.

“I hope I’m not bothering,” Clark said slowly, realizing he had no idea the extent of the ‘bad things’ Bruce had mentioned by text. He just knew that shit had went down during the week, but Bruce wasn’t one to narrate his entire life story on the phone, and Clark hadn’t expected it to be this bad. He was aware Bruce was unstable, that his moods were often complicated, that he hadn’t always been steady on his feet, but he didn’t know the extent of the damage. He didn’t know what to expect, and from the looks of it, he wouldn’t know until it happened. The thought made him sad, and he looked around, trying to see if Bruce was there. He had a sudden urge to hug the man and let him know things weren’t as awful as he made them out to be.

Alfred shook his head. “He asked for you to come. I’ll just ask _you_ to be careful with him,” Alfred said. “Be especially kind today, if you can.”

“I’m always kind,” Clark answered, grabbing his bags. “Is he upstairs?”

“He was in the garden, last time I saw him,” Alfred said. “I’ll put your bags up.”

“I can do it,” Clark said, but he was distracted, and let Alfred take them. He walked to the doors that led to the huge terrace. He had a feeling Bruce would be sitting at the edge of the gardens, in the grass, in front of a towering cross with his name on it. Tim and Kon were nowhere to be seen, and he stepped outside, walking faster than he intended.

He wasn’t wrong, and stood behind Bruce in silence as he got near, waiting for him to make the first move. He’d seen Bruce when he was unwell, but he hadn’t been allowed to care this openly before. Clark thought it was a good opportunity to show him there was something else beyond the stupid pranks and the quickies in their respective offices. This was _Bruce_. It wasn’t just another cute guy he could fuck to pass time.

“How was your flight?” Bruce asked out of nowhere, as if he wasn’t chain smoking in front of his parents’ grave.

“Fine,” Clark answered. There was something about Bruce that always threw him off, the way he had no shame in being so visibly unhinged, but treated help like some kind of strange concept he didn’t understand. He wouldn’t mind talking with his boyfriend of barely a month sitting in front of a gaping wound in his heart, but would have punched him for asking if he was alright, would’ve been hurt to be treated like someone who needed to see a psychiatrist. “How was your week?”

Bruce raised his head and gave him an unimpressed glare. “You know how my week was.”

“Get up and say hi properly,” Clark answered, offering his hand. Bruce hesitated but took it, and he brought him up for a kiss. “Ready to go back to work tomorrow?”

“Always,” Bruce answered, not letting go of his hand. “I hate holidays.”

Clark snorted, and pulled him away, back to the Manor. “Of course you would.” He paused for a second, and tugged at a wild strand in Bruce’s hair. “I missed you.”

“Unbelievably, so did I,” Bruce said.

“Come with me to Metropolis, next time.”

“I would rather die,” Bruce answered.

Clark put a hand over his heart, pretending to be hurt, and they walked back faster, the conversation flowing easily from here. Clark was a bit reassured they could pretend everything was alright. It wasn’t always a given. They reached the living room and Bruce kissed him on the cheek.

“I’m going to take a shower.”

Clark smiled, surprised at the unusual tenderness. “Sure. I’ll be here when you come back.”

Bruce’s eyes widened a bit. There was a spark in there Clark didn’t recognize, and Bruce squeezed his finger before leaving up the stairs. Clark just watched him go, a bad feeling churning in his stomach, worry mixed with something else, something he didn’t recognize in himself in either. Clark shook his head and walked in the kitchen, trying to find something to do. Alfred was preparing dinner. He asked if he could help just to be polite, but was ordered to sit before he could even finish the question. Clark was restless, refusing to be _too_ worried but incapable not to trust his guts. He didn’t know how to talk about it with Alfred, it felt strange and uncomfortable, like it wasn’t fair to Bruce.

“Is he often like this?” he ended up asking, chewing on a carrot, meaning to sound casual.

Alfred didn’t even stop what he was doing. “Yes.”

“Oh,” Clark just said. He didn’t really know what he’d been expecting.

“If you can’t take it, you might as well leave now,” Alfred told him, turning around to look at him in the eyes.

Clark stared back, his mind blank. “Uh… No, that’s not… That’s not what my question was about—”

“I am not telling you this to be rude,” Alfred said, cutting him off. “I’m telling you this because I don’t want to lie about these things. It’s either you love him for the good and the bad, or it’s better not to stay around. It’s impossible to do so otherwise.”

“He’s not that bad,” Clark answered. “I’ve seen worse.”

“Good for you,” Alfred said, and went back to cooking.

“He’s just hard to figure out,” Clark said eventually, but his words went unanswered.

 

***

 

Bruce was way more stressed than he should’ve been. It was just skyping with his son. He’d done this about two thousand times _this year only_. But dinner had went well, and his brain was still telling him there was no reason to take another breath. He lived on borrowed time, on minutes argued with illness, seconds stolen from the claws digging into his heart, feeling like a thieve for fighting back. This was alright, he was good at this. He hadn’t always been good at it— he’d been terrible at it, but then his kids had come around and he’d build a fortress around his brain so that it wouldn’t spill out, and it had held up so far. His only problem was that all of it was eating him up from the inside, and the fortress had been cracking for years, but he didn’t want to pay the price of tearing it down for good. He would stubbornly keep it up until he couldn’t.

Damian’s face appeared on the screen, and he felt his defences waver. _They deserve better_ , he told himself. _They deserve a father_. Bruce smiled at his son, knowing Damian wouldn’t see from there how much it cost him to do so. _They’re better off without you_.

“Hello, Damian.”

Damian waved. “Good evening, Bruce.”

Bruce stared at the camera. Damian had this way of being weirdly impersonal sometimes. It had taken a while to understand, but Bruce had realized he did that when he was on edge and tried to keep it all in. He mirrored his father’s coldness and made it his, working on keeping his face calm and composed, ignoring the wild beating of his heart. He was too young to be so good at this. _It’s in the genes_ , Bruce thought.

“How are you feeling?”

Damian shrugged. “I’m doing alright. How is Titus?”

“Titus is fine,” Bruce said, ignoring the fact Damian didn’t care how he felt. “Where are you staying?”

“In a hotel.”

“Where?”

“In Gotham.”

“Which hotel?”

Damian remained silent, and Bruce tensed, annoyed, angry and sad at the same time. He could feel Clark listening, even if he acted like he didn’t. The bedroom wasn’t that big, and Clark was really good at pretending he was reading a book. Still.

“You can tell me,” Bruce said, frustrated. “I’m not going to pop up at the door and drag you back home.”

“Dick’s eye looks really bad,” Damian spat out. Bruce heard Dick in the background telling Damian not to be like that, that he should hang up if it was just to say these things. Damian ignored his brother. “It’s all black and swollen.”

“I’m sorry, Damian,” Bruce just said, not really knowing where this conversation was going. “His eye will heal and I won’t do it again. I didn’t even do it on purpose.” _Or did you?_ “I didn’t,” Bruce repeated. He didn’t know who he was talking to.

“Good night, dad,” Damian said abruptly, and the call shut down.

Bruce stared at the glowing black screen and closed his computer, throwing it on the edge of the bed angrily. It bounced off and fell to the ground.

Clark raised his eyes from his book, frowning. “You… You hit Dick?”

“ _He was making the bag swing_ ,” Bruce answered, feeling like clawing at his skin. “I said I was sorry! I’m sorry, alright? I didn’t mean to do it! Why would I do this on purpose? It doesn’t make any sense! I never hit any of my kids before!” Saying the words out loud made Bruce’s voice shatter, and he got up from the bed, going straight to the bathroom and locking himself in. There was a small silence, and Clark knocked at the door. Bruce didn’t answer. He looked at himself in the mirror, grabbing the sink with white knuckles, his reflection blurry. He rubbed his eyelids, but the world kept spinning, and his scars itched, and he hit the mirror, his fist acting by itself. His reflection shattered, and he was almost surprised he didn’t feel the punch on his skin. That black eye belonged to him. If he could have knocked himself out, he would have.

“ _Bruce_!” Clark yelled, trying to open the door.

Blood trickled down Bruce’s fist, and he sat down against the door, Clark banging on the other side. There was a silence, a minute passed, and the door to the opposite side of the bathroom opened. Clark had come in through Dick’s bedroom, and was standing in front of him, worried and looking like he was the one with the split knuckles and the broken heart.

“Bruce,” he said again, kneeling in front of him, taking his bloodied hand in his. “Bruce.”

Bruce tried to push him away but didn’t put any heart in it. Clark moved only to get a wet towel, walking around the broken shards of glass. Bruce could see himself in them, a shattered reflection, in pieces on the floor. He wasn’t really one for poetry. He hadn’t ever found how bad it hurt to be beautiful. He didn’t see any beauty in tragedy. He just felt like he was eleven again, screaming his throat raw, waking up from nightmares only to find out being awake didn’t suck any less. Clark pressed the towel against his hand. He was awake. He would rather have been dead.

“Do you honestly think I would hit Dick?” Bruce asked, his eyes closed, refusing to look at Clark. He couldn’t feel his hand, and didn’t know if Clark was still trying to do damage control.

There was a silence, too long for Bruce to keep his eyes shut. He opened them, and saw Clark staring at him, his eyes clouded with worry and caring and something else. “No one gives their children black eyes accidentally.” Clark paused. “I don’t believe you wanted to do it. But you can’t keep pretending you didn’t.”

“Stop,” Bruce just said.

“The same way tomorrow you’re going to look at that broken mirror and realize someone broke it and that someone is you. It’s one thing to feel sorry for the ashes you leave behind you, and another to deny you ever started the fire.”

 _Help_. The word was right behind Bruce’s lips, stuck in his throat, making it hard to breathe. _Please help_. He looked at Clark’s blue eyes, and pulled him for a kiss. Maybe Clark wouldn’t have to hear it if he got closer, if he stuck his teeth in his bottom lip like he often did, if he tasted the blood himself. _Please help_.


End file.
